


Follow Your Heart

by emelianss



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creepy creatures, Evil Toad Is Evil, Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, First Kiss, First Meeting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Near death by freezing, Prince!Jean, Temporary Character Death, Thumbelina AU, Tiny tiny Marco, Weddings, descriptions of violence, don't worry guys, fairy!Jean, he's Thumbelina, that last tag is just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emelianss/pseuds/emelianss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Born from a magical flower and no bigger than his mother's thumb, Marco dreams of love and others like him. When he meets Jean, the Prince of the fairies, he believes his heart's wishes are finally coming true. But in the woods beyond his house live creatures with plans of their own, and stolen away in the dark of night, Marco's lost and alone in a world so much bigger than the one he knows. Now he must learn to trust in himself if he’s ever to find his way home — and back to Jean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yes, I couldn’t resist. So here is the beginning of my Thumbelina JM au, based on Don Bluth’s movie adaptation of the fairy tale. As you’ll see I’ve changed and added some things, but the story remains the same. I hope you’ll enjoy it! :’)
> 
>  
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Once upon a time there was a lonely woman who longed to have a child to call her own. One day she paid a visit to a good witch, who gave her a tiny barleycorn. ‘Plant it in a flowerpot,’ she said, ‘and see what happens.’

The woman did as she was told, and by and by, a beautiful flower grew. As the rose finally opened, the parting petals revealed a small boy no bigger than the woman’s thumb.

The boy was gentle and sweet and his mother named him Marco. But being so small in such a big, big world came with many problems. Marco’s mother and all the animals on her farm helped and took good care of him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being strange and different. Was he the only person his size in the whole world?

One evening when his mother was reading another story about brave knights and princesses, Marco asked to hear a story about little people, like him. She opened the pages with a story about the fairy prince’s wedding. The fairies had wings and could fly, which meant they weren’t exactly like Marco. But their size was his. Marco watched the beautiful illustrations with shining eyes; the sight of the wedding between the loving fairies filled him both with happiness and a sting of longing. ‘Have you ever seen a fairy, mother?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do think I did once,’ she replied, concerned for her son’s loneliness.

Sitting on the page and with his fingers tracing the lines of the fairy prince’s head, Marco sighed. It was only a story, and even if not, it was unlikely he’d ever meet any of them. Everything was so unfair, so _impossible_. How could he ever hope for a wedding of his own if he was so much smaller than everyone else? He wished he was big.

‘Oh no, Marco,’ his mother said, love and care gentle in her voice. ‘Don’t ever wish to be anything but what you are.’

Marco sighed again, but managed a smile in response. It was time for bed then, and he asked for the book to be left open so he could look at the pictures while falling asleep. His mother did as he wanted, wishing him good night as her thumb got a loving hug from him before he climbed into his nutshell bed.

Their dog soon fell asleep on his chair, and now alone Marco got up again. The moonlight shone in through the window, bathing the table in a shimmering gleam. Everything was quiet and magical, and standing in front of the life-sized fairy couple Marco started humming to himself. Allowing his imagination to run away with him to a world where the prince was real and there. Maybe if his heart’s wishes were strong enough, they’d come true.

Meanwhile out in the forests and meadows, very real fairies were colouring nature in red and orange. Autumn was coming, and it was their job to make sure the wheel of the year turned as it should.

The Queen looked out over the golden fields they flew past in their butterfly wagons, sighing deeply. ‘Don’t look now, love,’ she said to her husband, the King. ‘But our son is missing again.’

‘Oh,’ said the King. ‘I suppose he was embarrassed riding that white butterfly we gave him.’

‘Why would he be embarrassed about that?!’

‘You know, it doesn’t give the right impression on the young girls and boys.’

The Queen shook her head at her husband’s small smile. ‘But what about the impression on _the court?_ I sure hope he isn’t flying around on that horrible bumblebee — he’s going to get himself killed!’

The King laughed gently. ‘Dear, have you forgotten how it’s like to be 16?’

Even if the Queen had forgotten it once, she was constantly reminded about it now thanks to her son. And as she had feared, the prince was indeed flying around on his bumblebee. He wasn’t really that far astray from the rest of them, but as he passed by a window a beautiful voice caught his attention, and the duty to catch up with the procession vanished from his mind.

Jean landed on the windowsill and told his bumblebee to wait outside while he inspected who was singing so magically. Pressing himself through the small opening in the window, he found himself in a bedroom. In it was a boy of Jean’s size, engaged in conversation with the illustrations of the open book standing on the table.

Smirking to himself, Jean flew in between the pages and awaited a good moment to announce his presence. It came soon enough; chuckling at his own pun he used his sword to slice open a hole in the page just where a window was pictured. ‘May I cut in?’

The boy, who was as beautiful as his voice with tiny flowers in his dark hair and freckles dusting his skin, fell silent in shock. He didn’t seem to appreciate the pun or its good timing. Instead he backed away from Jean before rushing to hide in the teapot behind him.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you!’ Jean flew after him and peeked inside the teapot. ‘Can’t you come out from there?’ Please.’

The boy looked up at Jean, expression still uncertain. But as Jean drummed his fingers on the porcelain, trying a both charming and reassuring smile, it was met with a small one in return.

Still not saying anything, Marco climbed out of the teapot’s mouth and back down on the table. He stared up at the small stranger, not believing his eyes any more now than he’d done when the other boy suddenly cut his way through the book. The _winged_ boy. _A fairy!_

‘Ah, there you are!’ he said, flying down from the teapot to land in front of Marco, who again took a few steps back. The handsome smile was replaced by a puzzled expression. ‘Why are you staring?’

‘Oh uhm.’ Marco fumbled with his hands, glancing back at the book pages before returning his gaze to the stranger. ‘You have wings,’ he said, making a small gesture with his hands.

‘…Yeah?’

‘You’re like them.’ Marco pointed at the book. ‘One of the fairies.’

‘I am,’ Jean confirmed, eyebrow raised in confusion at the other boy’s strange behaviour. ‘What, you’ve never met one before?’

‘No, I…’ Marco hid his growing smile behind his hands, this time not moving when Jean came closer. ‘I can’t believe it!’

Confident smirk back on his face, Jean lessened the space between them with a slight swaying of his hips with each step. The boy’s cheeks were rosy, his eyes wide but in an inviting way now. _So pretty_. Jean had no idea how he’d never met any of their kind before, or why he didn’t have wings too, but Jean was determined to make a very good first impression.

‘I never thought I’d meet someone shorter than me!’ Marco continued, the delighted smile wide and visible through his fingers.

Jean stopped. _What?_ He straightened his back as much as he could, which was pretty much as straight as it already had been, and measured their height with his eyes. Okay so maybe he was _slightly_ shorter. Not much. Not something to comment on. He squinted at Marco, who paid no mind to his scowl. ‘What are you talking about?’ he muttered then. ‘It’s not even a millimetre difference!’

Marco had lowered his hands now and his soft smile was fully visible. ‘If you say so,’ he hummed.

The next moment a growl came from the chair beside the table. The family dog had woken up to find an intruder in the room with them and, on protecting duty as he was, he had no intention to let anyone uninvited bother Marco.

Jean didn’t know this, of course. All he saw was an angry beast threatening to attack, and he drew his sword again while placing himself like a shield in front of Marco.

Seeing the two of them ready to fight, both with the intention to protect him, Marco hurried around Jean and in between them. ‘Oh no, no, everything’s alright!’ he said, gesturing to Jean to lower the sword. Confused, Jean did as told, while Marco explained the situation to the dog. ‘He’s a guest, see?’ he said, turning back to Jean with a greeting bow. ‘It’s so nice of you to come visiting! I’m Marco.’

As the dog calmed down a little, Jean finally understood what Marco was doing. ‘Oh the pleasure’s all mine!’ he insisted, bowing as well. The dog squinted at him, growling again in question this time. But after a few more awkward exchanges, the dog was convinced and fell back into sleep.

Jean glanced at Marco, and was met by a nervous smile and warm cheeks. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, fidgeting with his fingers again. ‘But to be fair, you did come in uninvited.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I should have waited by the window.’ Jean sent the book a look, scratching his neck. ‘The _real_ window, I mean.’

Marco was silent, and worried he’d ruined it all with his tactless entrance, Jean was hesitant to turn back towards him. But when he did dare it, he found the other boy was watching him with a soft smile, still standing only a few steps away.

‘Marco,’ Jean repeated then, confidence back and accompanied by a giddy feeling in his chest. He wanted to spin around on the spot, but figured he’d already made enough of a fool of himself. ‘It’s a lovely name!’

With a laugh as soft as his smile, Marco replied, ‘Thank you,’ his gaze falling shyly to the table beneath their feet.

‘I’m Jean,’ Jean continued, smirk growing with his confidence.

Marco’s eyes darted up, his features twisting into a cute frown as he tried to pronounce it the correct way. ‘Zhawn?’ he said, a giggle hiding behind his voice. ‘That’s a strange name! I—I mean…It’s nice, very nice. Perfect—’

Usually Jean would have been offended, but now he just raised an eyebrow, enjoying the sound of Marco’s nervous chuckle. He smiled in reply, showing him that he didn’t mind the comment. The pink in Marco’s cheeks deepened and again he averted his eyes. But he too was smiling.

The royal fairy couple looked back at them from the book page and Marco let out a dreamy sigh. ‘Can you tell me about the fairy court?’ he asked, turning and finding Jean much closer than before. He didn’t mind. ‘Is there a… a prince?’

Jean crossed his arms over his chest, amused. ‘There is,’ he confirmed, eyes on Marco’s distracted expression.

‘He must be terribly handsome!’

Grin widening, Jean let his hands fall to his hips, leaning closer into Marco’s space. ‘Oh, he is.’

‘Strong, and brave…’

‘None like him.’

Marco looked back at Jean then. At how close he was standing, the warmth from him and his smile burning away the chilly midnight air seeping in through the open window. ‘I’d like to meet him,’ Marco admitted, but even as he said it, gaze transfixed by Jean’s golden eyes, he wondered to himself if the prince could really be as handsome as Jean.

‘I’ll try to arrange that,’ Jean promised, his fingers touching Marco’s between them.

That was the moment the bumblebee decided it didn’t want to wait any longer. The annoyed buzzing from outside woke them both from their dreaming, and Jean sighed in frustration. ‘It’s my bumblebee,’ he explained in reply to Marco’s surprise. ‘He hates waiting.’

‘Why didn’t you say something?’ Marco grabbed Jean’s hand firmer and hurried towards the window, eager to meet his friend.

It was a mighty sight for sure. Marco let out a soft gasp, wondering how it’d be like to fly away on its back into the night. Jean understood his expression and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Do you want to come along for a ride?’ he asked, nodding towards the restless bumblebee.

Marco’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

Jean stepped closer to his flying steed, nodding again and leading Marco with him. ‘I promise to take you back safely.’

Marco’s smile grew, his eyes shining. ‘Okay.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> [Here's the original tumblr post](http://emelianss.tumblr.com/post/147800383421/thumbelina-jm-au) if you want to share it! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the fairy tale continues...
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! :') <3 
> 
>    
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

They climbed up on the bumblebee, Jean right by the head and Marco close behind. Jean’s wings parted and fluttered on each side of Marco to allow him closer, their touch tickling his arms. A needle of sadness cut through the excitement bubbling inside him. ‘Oh how I wish I had wings,’ he sighed.

Jean turned his head to smile back at him. ‘Maybe you will one day,’ he said, heart skipping a beat at the sight of Marco’s hopeful eyes. He grabbed the antennae to steer them off the windowsill. ‘Hold on tight!’ he called, laughing with Marco as Marco’s flailing arms found their way around his chest, pressing them close together.

The bumblebee took them through the fields and along the river winding its way across the countryside. Marco’s eyes were wide open, his smile amazed, and his heart full of happiness. To begin with, he was scared to let go of Jean, but as the fresh air danced through his hair and across his skin, the sensation of being free took over. He reached for the water beneath them, his fingers causing ripples to spread over the surface. Stars sparkled like the night sky far, far above, joining the golden gleam of the dust from Jean’s wings.

When certain that Marco was comfortable, Jean took flight from his bumblebee. Their feet slid over the water’s surface as Jean steered Marco around in a dance, holding Marco close and promising he didn’t need to fear. Jean would never let him fall.

They flew through the night with fairy dust bright and sparkling from Jean’s whole being, while they sung and danced together. Jean showed how the fairies made pumpkins and other plants grow bigger before the harvest, leaves seeming a bit more orange after they’d flown past. Dandelion seeds swirled and spread in the air around them. Animals and bugs watched them with curious interest. And Marco had never felt so safe as he did in Jean’s arms.

They returned home bubbly and full of life. Laughing, Jean lifted Marco off the bumblebee’s back, spinning them around to the sound of Marco’s happiness before placing him back on his feet. Jean sighed, the smile on his face impossible to wipe away. His hands still rested on Marco’s arms, his eyes transfixed by the softness of Marco’s own. ‘Something happened to me tonight,’ he whispered, daring to touch Marco’s cheek with his fingers. ‘I don’t know what but… something wonderful.’

Marco’s eyes fell closed as he leaned into the touch. ‘To me too,’ he replied, his voice as quiet as the wind. He opened his eyes again, meeting Jean’s golden gaze and hoping all his feelings were visible on face. ‘Thank you.’

They walked slowly and in silence across the windowsill to the opening, their fingers linked and reluctant to let go.

Back inside, Marco turned to face Jean with a soft sigh. He looked down on the flower string around his neck that he’d received from some friendly bugs, and then tilted his head to take it off. ‘Never forget me,’ he whispered and lowered the flowers over Jean’s head.

Jean touched the tiny forget-me-nots and shook his head. ‘Never. I’ll never forget you!’ he promised, removing his royal ring to put it onto Marco’s finger instead. He then held his hands tight, gazing into his beautiful eyes with a dreaming smile.

‘Jean!’ an impatient tone cut through the night. ‘Jean, come now!’

‘Oh mother,’ Jean sighed, before his eyes widened at how close her voice was. Quickly he grabbed Marco’s arm and pulled him down to the floor from the window glass he was peeking through.

‘Who is it?’ Marco asked, puzzled. But he stayed on his knees like Jean.

‘It’s the fairy Queen — my mother.’ Jean added the last bit with a grimace, then exchanged it for a hopeful expression. ‘Can I meet you again tomorrow?’

‘The Queen?’ Marco repeated, letting go of Jean’s hands. ‘Your _mother?_ But then you're— you—’ He interrupted himself when the rest of Jean’s words sunk in. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes, tomorrow,’ Jean said, linking their fingers again. He had the decency to blush a little as he admitted, ‘and yes, I’m the prince.’

‘O-oh… That makes sense, I suppose.’ Jean raised an eyebrow at him but Marco only smiled, his eyes downcast and cheeks warm. ‘I’d love to meet you tomorrow.’

With a final call from the Queen, this time joined by the King, Jean forced himself away from Marco. But not before he’d held Marco’s hands close to his chest and promised to return as soon as he could.

The next morning, Marco’s mother’s gentle greeting slowly woke him from sleep. Yawning and rubbing his sleepy eyes, Marco sat up and blinked against the sunlight. The book still stood open, the illustrations still beautiful, but the fairy dust duller now that he knew how bright it sparkled in reality.

‘Oh, mother!’ he burst out, excited smile wide and lingering tiredness gone. ‘I had such a wonderful night!’

Climbing out of bed he then told her about the fairy prince, and the romantic flight he’d taken Marco on. She listened with surprise and a smile, and once he was done she said, ‘It sounds like a lovely dream, dear.’

Marco’s distracted gaze snapped back to her. ‘Oh no, it wasn’t a dream,’ he insisted, bewilderment now clear on her face. ‘Jean’s real, and he’s coming back tonight.’

But seeing her uncertain frown, Marco couldn’t help but wonder too. Hadn’t it all been too good to be true? Maybe he really had made it up. Saddened by this realisation, his eyes fell to his feet. But in his line of sight were also his hands fidgeting with his clothes, and on his finger gleamed the ring Jean had given him. He raised his hand with a soft gasp, seeing his relieved face smile back at him in the reflection of the stone.

It was true; Jean was real. And just as he’d promised, he returned that evening to meet Marco again. Laughing and shining as he spun Marco around, holding him close.

As autumn fell over the world, they spent each evening flying to new places. It all was even bigger than Marco had imagined, but with Jean beside him nothing felt quite as impossible as before. Marco listened with attentive eagerness to Jean’s stories of all the beings in the forest and in turn he told Jean about his own life on the farm.

‘It’s all very difficult, being so small without wings,’ he said, longing eyes watching the golden dust of Jean’s fluttering behind him.

Jean gave him a soft smile and again expressed his hopes that it may change. ‘And until then,’ he added, brushing away a curl of dark hair from Marco’s cheek, gently tucking it behind his ear, ‘I’ll be your wings.’ He caught Marco's gaze, holding it, and Marco’s heart beated a little faster.

During the days Marco dreamed himself away to the places they visited, waiting for evening and Jean to return. He was so happy his small body could barely contain it all; it was as if his heart would burst out of his chest any moment.

One late evening they visited a lake and sung with the fishes and toads. Jean was enchanted by how Marco shone as beautiful as always, his kind heart including all the beings surrounding them. It made him beloved by everyone they met, and the affection in Jean’s own heart only grew stronger with each passing day.

On their flight back that evening, Jean pondered how best to phrase the question he’d been wanting to ask. Marco’s arms lay comfortable around his waist, head resting sleepily on his shoulder. Jean could feel Marco smile even as he drifted on the edge of sleep, and Jean’s chest sighed at the soft hum and mumbling that escaped from Marco’s lips.

Back on the windowsill outside Marco’s room, Jean helped him down from the bumblebee with a supportive hold around his waist. It was after letting go that he finally dared to speak. ‘Hey, Marco…’

‘Mm?’ Marco replied and turned towards Jean who was following him towards the window, blinking with the softest smile dancing over his lips. Gosh, he was so beautiful.

‘I—I was thinking,’ Jean started, fumbling with his hands from waist to hips to crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Maybe… Would you like to meet my parents?’

Marco’s drowsy eyes immediately widened, his sleepiness like blown away by the wind. ‘Your parents?’ he repeated, not sure if he’d heard Jean correctly.

‘Well...yes.’ Jean gave him a sheepish smile, cheeks warming up despite his attempt to keep his calm. ‘I’ve… mentioned you… or _talked_ about you… a lot. They uhm… they want to meet you.’

‘They do?’ Marco’s mind raced; the idea that the King and Queen knew about him, _asked to meet him_ … he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he voiced the first concern he could untangle from the mess. ‘Will they like me?’

Jean found Marco’s hands with a soft smile. ‘Of course they will.’ Encouraged by the affection in Marco’s eyes, he continued. ‘I wish for you to come with me, to… stay with me. I—I mean of course you can always come back and visit here, for as long as you want! I—I just, I uhm… I’m not sure how to—’

‘I would love to!’ Marco interrupted before he could stop himself. Realising how rude it might have been, he clasped his hands to his mouth, cheeks aflame in embarrassment.

Jean’s surprised face melted into a chuckle, and gentle he steered Marco’s hands away from his face, lacing their fingers together between them. ‘Good,’ he mumbled, leaning closer and nudging Marco’s nose with his own. ‘Can I take you to them tomorrow?’

With his breath stuck in his throat, Marco nodded. But Jean’s smile and words were warm, and Marco’s shoulders relaxed with a sigh. ‘And then,’ he whispered back, allowing his eyes to fall closed, ‘we’ll live happily ever after.’

‘No,’ Jean said, so close his lips almost touched Marco’s. ‘Much, much longer than that…’

As always when they took too long to say goodbye, the bumblebee buzzed at them with an annoying tone. Jean sighed, but stepped back. Soon they would be together, and no more partings like this would be needed. Still, he didn’t want to turn away from Marco. He held his hand while backing until their fingers no longer reached each other. About the same time, he almost stumbled over one of the bumblebee's legs, barely catching himself in time.

Marco laughed, but it was a beautiful, caring sound, and Jean was only a little embarrassed as he flew up on the bumblebee’s back. ‘Tomorrow, then?’ he said, as every night before, looking back at Marco one last time. Marco nodded again and stayed on the windowsill to wave his goodbye until Jean had disappeared into the night.

Now alone, Marco let out a deep, happy sigh and spun around. Surrounding him the world burned in beautiful colours, the sky was filled with stars, and he was happier than he’d ever been before.

But that night, things would change in more ways than one. While Marco and Jean sung to the lake creatures that evening, one of the toads took a liking to Marco and his beautiful voice. The toad knew he must get Marco to marry him, and the mother, who saw potential in having someone with Marco’s singing talent in the family, decided to take the matters in her own hands.

So, as Marco slept in his bed and dreamed about the happy future awaiting him with Jean, the toad sneaked into the room through the window. She then slammed the nutshell closed with Marco still inside; he woke up with a start both at the sound and the sudden movement of the shell as she carried it with her. Terrified and confused he yelled for the dog to help, and the familiar growl was joined by the surprised shriek of the toad.

The shell shook as she tossed it back and forth on her way around the dog blocking her escape. Marco tried his best to stay steady inside with his arms outstretched for support, but he still hit his head in the ceiling. He cried for help again, panic building in his chest. The walls seemed to close in on him with every shake, and his dizzy mind fought hard to make sense of all the sounds swirling together.

And then the shell dropped, falling through the air with such force he had no chance of holding himself steady. He hit the ceiling again, his head spinning as he fell back to the pillow. The last thing he heard was the rippling and splashing of water, and the howl from the dog disappearing far away in the distance.

\- - -

Jean arrived at dawn the next morning, the early sunlight sparkling in his wings. The many presents he carried with him spilled out over the windowsill as he fumbled to get off the helmet his mother had insisted he should be wearing.

‘You’re bringing the boy you wish to marry to court!’ she had said as he woke them up to tell about his plans. ‘You must do this properly!’

So here he was with wrapped presents and a helmet ruining his hair, as ready as he ever could be for the proposal he hadn’t managed to voice the night before.

‘Marco!’ he called as he picked up the presents, only to drop them again when he tried to squeeze through the tiny opening in the window. He chuckled at himself and tried a third time. But as soon as he came in and saw the chaotic state of the room, furniture turned over and curtains torn, the packages smattered to the floor by his feet. ‘Marco…?’ he tried again, eyes frenetically searching the mess for any sign of him. ‘Marco, where are you?’

It was then he heard the sad noises from the corner. Flying over he found the dog sobbing a heartbroken song over their terrible loss. Jean knew him well by now and landed on his nose without hesitation.

‘Where’s Marco?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

The dog’s eyes widened at the sight of Jean, eager bark greeting him. And so the dog told Jean in his own way of how Marco had been stolen away in the dark of night, taken from right under his nose by a vicious toad.

Aghast and enraged, Jean flew back towards the window. ‘I promise I’ll find him!’ he shouted over his shoulder as he landed on the waiting bumblebee. ‘I’ll find him and bring him home!’

He left the scattered presents on the windowsill, asking the dog to take care of Marco’s mother and tell her that everything would be all right.

But the poor woman still wept, her heart and soul worrying so for her lost son. She didn’t doubt the fairy prince’s good intentions, but he too was just as small as Marco. What could such tiny people do against the big, big forest?

\- - -

Far out there, Marco woke up with a terrible headache and the sun sticking in his eyes. Sitting up in his bed he held a hand to his brow for support and stared around. It took a while before he recognised the lake he’d visited with Jean the night before; it looked different in the daylight and all alone he felt none of the safety Jean’s presence had given him before. All he could think of was all the _water_ , and how far they’d been flying before arriving. Why would someone break into his home to take him here like this?

In that moment, a voice greeted him from his left. Now he saw his bed was actually standing on the deck of a houseboat, and the owner appeared beside him. ‘Good morning!’ the toad greeted. ‘I hope you slept very, very well!’

Marco stared at her, blankets drawn to his chest as his only protection. He had slept well, at least during the beginning of the night. His headache was proof that the rest had not been as good. ‘Wh-who are you?’ he asked, turning his head to follow her as she walked around him.

Mother Toad introduced herself and her three sons, and all of them watched Marco with unnerving interest. She told him they were famous singers, and that Marco’s voice had caught their interest the night before. That’s why she had brought him here; to become a star like them.

Shaking his head, Marco quickly climbed out of his bed. ‘I’m sorry but I need to go home,’ he said, although he had no idea how to get there unless the toads helped him. ‘My mother will be terribly worried—’

Mother Toad waved her hand in a dismissing manner. ‘Your mother will be _proud!’_ she said and then started singing about what a wonderful future awaited Marco now. The performance drew the attention of other animals and creatures, who watched the show and clapped the rhythm.

Marco didn’t know what to do. He was scared of offending any of them, so he forced smiles and even tried to sing along when it was demanded of him. Maybe if the audience liked him, they might help him home if the toads refused.

But the moment the show was over, and the applause ended, every single creature returned into the forest or the water. Now alone with the toads again, Marco’s worry increased. He wanted to believe the best of everyone, but this situation was making him terribly uncomfortable. ‘I really should be going home,’ he tried a second time, backing away from the toad son who was the most insistent on getting close. ‘Prince Jean is coming for me—’

‘Home?’ Mother Toad repeated. ‘The prince? No, no. You’re going to marry my son!’

‘ _What?_ ’ Voice breaking, Marco stared back at the ugly creature. He was drooling from his big mouth, tongue hanging out, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down Marco’s spine. ‘But I—I don’t want to marry him!’ he insisted. He would have wanted to turn a proposal down in a gentler way because he never wished to hurt anyone. But the finality in Mother Toad’s voice scared him, and every part of his being screamed for him to get away.

Neither of the toads were listening, though. While Mother Toad still talked about wedding plans, her sons pushed Marco off the boat to a water lily pad floating on the surface, before steering the boat away from him.

‘What are you doing?’ he called, panicked eyes staring at the water separating them. ‘Where are you going? You can’t leave me here!’

‘We’ll soon be back with the priest!’ the toads replied, waving as they paddled down the stream.

‘Priest? Oh no, no…’ Shaking his head with dread cold on his skin he called after them, ‘Wait! Can we please talk about this?’

The toads cackled from their distance, singing the wedding march with delight and ignoring Marco’s pleas. Soon they were out of sight, their song replaced by silence.

Marco yelled for help to the sky, the forest, the water, praying that someone, anyone, would hear. But as he stood too close to the edge, the leaf wobbled under his feet. Terrified of falling in, because he could neither swim nor float, Marco backed to the centre where he sank down, knees drawn to his chest and arms tight around his legs. Tears were breaking in the corner of his eyes as he stared up at the gigantic trees surrounding the water. Everything was so quiet, more so than he thought a forest could be. He’d never felt so alone.

‘Please, please, someone help me,’ he whispered, hope and courage slipping away with the silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you liked this and want to share it on tumblr, [here is the post!](http://emelianss.tumblr.com/post/148155595936/follow-your-heart-thumbelina-jm-au-chapter-2) <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is here... aka the part where I realised just how dark and sad this story actually gets. I want to apologise to anyone who went into this expecting all cuteness and fluff (like myself) and ask those who don't know the movie (or fairytale) to trust me when I say that the ending will be Very Happy and everything will be alright! We (and the boys) just have to get through this pain first. (To those who do know the movie: I'm... sorry for the extra pain I'm adding to certain parts.... >>) 
> 
> So yeah, I changed the rating to T because of the sads in general, and also because of the last scene of this chapter. The angstier tags that I've added are all about that, so just a warning!
> 
> Anyway, as always I hope you'll enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

The King and Queen of the fairies were not in a good mood, and not for the first time this annoyance was caused by their son.

‘You’ve been talking about this boy of your dreams for weeks, announcing it in front of the entire court and using him as an excuse to neglect your duties,’ said the Queen, not trying to hide the displeasure from her voice. ‘And now that you were finally going to bring him here, you’re telling us that he has _vanished_?’

‘ _Kidnapped_ , Mother!’ Jean snapped back. He had no time for his mother’s doubts; he might have made up reasons and excuses for himself in the past, but this was serious and he needed her to believe him. ‘He has been kidnapped!’

‘You’re joking!’ The Queen turned to her husband for support, her hand pressed to her chest. She didn’t know what to make of any of this. Unfortunately, neither did the King; all he replied with was an uncertain expression, looking from her to their son.

Jean walked back and forth in front of them while his mind raced for answers. ‘I have to find him,’ he said, then turned straight to the King. ‘Please, Father, delay the winter frost — give me as much time as you can!’

‘Jean,’ his father started, but Jean wasn't listening. Every moment longer he stayed here was a moment lost, so he rushed back to his bumblebee to get going. He shouted for them not to worry, for he would find Marco and come back before winter fell. They called for him again, more urgent this time, but he only waved in response as he flew away.  

‘Oh my poor boy,’ the Queen said, her heart aching as she looked after him. The King’s eyes were downcast as he shook his head, his hand on his wife’s shoulder. They might be the guardians of the changing seasons, but their power was to make sure the changes happened in time, not delay them. It was with heavy hearts they returned to the daily duties of the court, hoping desperately for their son to soon return like he had promised.

\- - -

Deep below the surface of the lake, a couple of fish heard the toads paddle away in their boat, leaving the poor boy alone on the lily pad. His desperate cries reached them too, yells soon replaced by sobbing. They were of the opinion that they had no right to interfere with the business of others. But after how their own parents once had tried to decide who they should marry, their belief in love was stronger. Besides, they’d never been any big fans of the toad family’s singing. And so in silent, mutual understanding, they decided they must help.

The fish swam up to the surface, accidentally scaring Marco with how close they were before they told him they were there to help. Sighing in relief, Marco wiped away his tears.

‘Thank you so much!’ he said. ‘I have to get away from here before the toads come back, but I can’t swim so I don’t know what to do.’

‘Hold on to my back and I’ll swim you home,’ replied one of the fish.

Marco eyed the surface uncertainly. ‘But I can’t breathe under water,’ he said, sorry to ruin the fish’s idea when all she wanted was to help him.

The two fish wives exchanged a look over their own foolishness, before the other one said, ‘We’ll chew off the stem holding the lily pad here, and then you can let it follow the stream until you get home!’

They found Marco a small stick to steer with and then chewed off the stem as they’d said. The leaf wobbled as Marco rose up, but he managed to steady both it and himself before the stream caught them onto its back.

‘Thank you, thank you!’ Marco called back to the fish. ‘How can I ever repay you?’

‘Invite us to your wedding to the fairy prince!’ they replied. Marco blushed, but with a smile and a wave, he promised to do so.

The river took Marco through lovely landscapes, the forest always on his right but sometimes clearing for fields to spread on his left. It looked different from down here and in the daylight, but Marco still thought he recognised some places. That must mean he was going in the right direction! Relieved and happy, Marco let himself enjoy the gentle trip.

But then the stream sped up; looking ahead Marco saw to his terror how the water disappeared over an edge not far from where he floated.

A waterfall.

‘Oh no, no no!’ Yelling with even more panic than earlier, Marco’s pleas rose high, reaching for the sky and far into the trees. But the roar of the water swallowed his voice, just as the depths would swallow him unless he reached the banks in time. He fought all he could to steer the lily pad closer to safety, but he was far too small and the river far too strong.

Thoughts of his mother came to his mind, how worried she must be and how she would never know what had happened to him. He thought of their beloved dog, who no doubt was filled with guilt for failing to stop the toad from taking him. All the animals on the farm, and the friends he’d made during his nightly flights with Jean — he would never see any of them again.

And Jean. Oh, Marco’s heart was breaking, tears mixing with the water splashing up from his terrified attempts to paddle away. Marco loved Jean, but had lost his chances to say the words out loud, or hear them returned. He screamed again, while the edge came closer at terrifying speed.

But so, just as Marco was about to give up the little hope he had left, a bird dropped from the sky. ‘Quick!’ they called. ‘Let me grab your arms with my claws!’

Marco dropped his makeshift paddle and reached for the bird; they lifted him away from danger, swiftly flying over to the grass on the bank by the forest.

For a good while after he had been rescued, Marco could do nothing but just lie there on the ground taking deep, shivering breaths. He was safe, and not sure if he dared to believe it.

When he finally sat up again and looked around, he found himself surrounded by tiny bugs watching him with concerned interest. Among them was the bird, a young one not much more than a chick themselves. ‘How are you feeling?’ they asked with a tilted head.

‘Better than a few moments ago,’ Marco replied with a light laugh, relief washing away the remains of his fear. ‘Thank you so much! You saved my life.’

The bird bowed their head with a smile.

‘But what were you doing on that water lily?’ one of the bugs burst out.

Marco looked from her to the others, seeing on their faces that they all wondered the same thing. So he took a deep breath and told them his story. ‘I need to get home,’ he finished, eyes downcast. ‘But I don’t know how.’

‘I would fly you there right away,’ said the bird, ‘if only I was as strong as my siblings. But I was born with a wing too small, and I haven’t quite grown into myself yet.’

‘Oh you’ve already done more than enough!’ Marco reassured. He wouldn’t want anyone to sacrifice their own well-being for his sake, and he told them all as much.

‘What about the fairy prince?’ someone asked.

‘Yes!’ an excited child added, eyes sparkling. ‘Are you going to marry him?’

Marco laughed softly, his chest filling with warmth at the thought of Jean. ‘If he asks me to,’ he replied, unable to stop the dreaming sigh from escaping him. But then his eyes fell again. ‘He lives in the Vale of the Fairies, and I don’t know how to get there either.’

The bird spread its wings in sudden excitement. ‘I’ll find the Vale and tell him what happened!’ they chirped. ‘He’ll be able to take you home!’

The bugs cheered and Marco, smiling wide, rose to his feet. ‘I can never thank you enough for your kindness,’ he said, clasping his hands together. Then he looked around, at the water he’d been rescued from and the looming forest rising above. ‘But what will I do? I can’t just sit here, waiting. Oh, if only I knew the way…’

‘We will help you, Marco,’ the bugs promised. It was arranged that he was to stay with a family who lived farther into the forest. That way the others could find him when the bird came back with Jean, and he would be protected from the increasing cold. Maybe he might even find someone else to help him before that.

Uplifted with new hope, Marco thanked all the bugs in turn for their help. But he couldn’t quite cover the slight shake to his voice. He missed his mother terribly and wished he could reassure her that he was doing all right. And another worry still gnawed on his mind; what would happen if Jean never found him? Would he have to stay in the forest for the rest of his life?

Before the bird took flight, they once again bowed their head to Marco. ‘Remember,’ they said and touched Marco’s chest with the tip of one wing, ‘when in doubt, trust your heart to lead you right.’

Marco touched the wing with his own fingers, his hand staying over his chest when the bird stepped back. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘For everything.’

They said their goodbyes, and Marco followed the bug family into the forest. They chatted about the surroundings where friends of theirs lived, in tree trunks, flowers, and the earth. Their own home was a big mushroom, pretty and colourful, and it reminded Marco of the illustrations in his fairytale book at home. It was such a window Jean had first cut himself through, trying and failing to impress, and the memory made Marco smile fondly. Jean always tried to appear all confident without a single shy bone in his body, but Marco had long ago learned he blushed and stumbled over his words just as much as Marco did, if not even more. Sometimes it was enough that Marco smiled at him, and his cheeks would turn as red as his clothes. Marco had now long ago lost count of how many times he had wanted to kiss that adorable face but yet not dared to. Oh, he hoped for Jean to find him soon. He missed him so.

During the following days, Marco helped the bugs collect food and learned how to store it for later. He also played with the children; there were three of them, two siblings and the third their very close friend. They told Marco about life in the forest, some that he remembered from Jean’s stories and other things that were all new. He really did enjoy himself most of the time, but during the loneliness of night he thought of home and bumblebee flights through the stars.

One afternoon when the trio showed Marco another of their favourite playgrounds, they got company from a new creature. It was a big, scrawny beetle, who had been called to this place when hearing the sound of Marco’s beautiful laughter. Now he walked right up to Marco and grabbed his hand before even greeting any of them. ‘Oh hello there, sweets,’ he said, already planting a sloppy kiss on Marco’s wrist. ‘I’m Mr. Beetle, at your service.’

‘Uhm, hello,’ Marco replied, worming his hand out of the beetle’s bony grip. He held it close to his chest, leaning back as he widened the space between them again. ‘I’m Marco.’

‘Oh, Marco!’ Mr. Beetle exclaimed, spreading his four arms wide as if thanking the sky and the sun for this wonderful day. ‘Such a lovely name for such a lovely person!’

‘Thank you…’ Marco exchanged an uncertain look with the trio, who all were angered by the beetle’s rude behaviour. One of them was even ready to fight, but his sister held him back for now while keeping a suspicious eye on Mr. Beetle. He was again grabbing for Marco’s arm, caring little for personal space or reading body language.

‘Oh and your voice — simply gorgeous!’ he continued. ‘Please sing for me!’

‘Uhm…’ Marco let out a nervous laugh, not sure what to make of this bizarre situation. But as he watched the tall beetle, an idea hit him. He was bigger than the bugs and older than the young bird so he might be strong enough to carry someone else. ‘Mr. Beetle,’ Marco said, using his sweetest voice. ‘Would it be possible for you to fly me to the treetops? Just for a moment so I may see in which direction I must go to come home.’

Mr. Beetle frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he mused. ‘It would be a big, oh, very big favour…’

‘I’ll sing for you,’ Marco promised.

‘Mmm…’ the beetle sounded, rubbing his fingers over his chin in thought. ‘I have a better idea, sweets. What about you come with me, hmm?’

‘What? No, I—’

‘You’ll sing on the Beetle Ball tonight,’ Mr. Beetle decided, and then with another sloppy kiss on the arm and a wink he added, ‘they will all love you as much as I do...’

It took all Marco had in him not to tear his arm free and back as far away from the beetle as possible. He needed his help if he was to get high enough to see his house, but now he was regretting the suggestion. Did he really want to give this creature the chance to just fly away with him?

‘Mr. Beetle,’ he started, once again worming his arm free. ‘I really don’t think—’

But Mr. Beetle listened as little as the toads had done, and before either Marco or his friends had time to react, he swooped Marco from the ground and shot away through the trees. Marco screamed, but terrified of being dropped he didn’t dare struggle for his freedom. Why had he been so stupid? He cursed himself silently, his naivety and inability to defend himself.

‘Please, please take me down!’ he begged, tears filling his eyes when he saw how high they were. Now he felt none of the security and trust Jean instilled in him and instead dread washed over his skin. ‘I don’t want to sing on your ball!’

‘Oh don’t worry, sweets,’ the beetle replied, not slowing down. ‘It will be a great success!’

They didn’t stop until they reached the specific tree in which the ball was to be held. Mr. Beetle landed inside a hole that served as entrance hall, and instructed Marco to wait there. Then he hurried farther into the the tunnels of the wide trunk to find his band mates and tell them of his new plans, without having to worry about Marco leaving. He was alone with no one watching, but much the same as last time, there was nowhere Marco could run to.

Marco sighed. He had no intention to sing on the ball, but now that he was up here he might as well try to use it. Standing close to the tree trunk with fingers gripping the bark for support, he leaned out of the opening to glance down. It was dizzying, and while Marco was used to great heights, this one made his stomach churn. But it was with a taste of excitement as well. He wished he had wings so he wouldn't have to fear falling.

With cautious steps, Marco walked out on the branch. It was a broad one and probably rather safe for someone his size, but he still wanted to be careful. Unfortunately, all he saw in every direction were more trees. Burning leaves fell slow around him, and many branches had long ago shed their golden attire. But still what met his eyes were only colours of the forest, with no sign of human civilisation. The height wasn’t enough.

Marco returned to the trunk, tilting his head back to gaze upwards. His hand traced the bark in search for somewhere secure to hold, wondering if he dared to climb. He glanced down again, this time over his shoulder, swallowing the growing fear in his throat. A breeze swirled past, gently dancing through his hair. The sun was shining far above, golden gleams filtering through the branches. It was a beautiful day. He could do this.

But barely had he started climbing before he heard the beetle’s excited voice when he returned with his friends, and his gasp when finding Marco gone. Running steps followed, and then his head peeked out of the hole.

‘Where do you think you're going?!’ Mr. Beetle burst out, grabbing hold of Marco’s ankle and shook his leg. ‘Get back down here!’

‘Let go of me!’ Marco yelled back, kicking away Mr. Beetle’s hands. But instead the beetle flew up and hooked two arms around his waist, forcing him away from the trunk and back towards the opening where the other bugs were waiting. Marco kept kicking and struggling, but it was of little use. ‘I have to see where I am so I can get home..!’

‘You’re going to sing on the ball,’ Beetle responded, dragging him along into the entrance hall. One of his free arms wrapped around Marco’s shoulders in an awkward half-hug, while the last hand cupped Marco’s chin as he showed up his trophy for the rest of the band. ‘Look at him, isn’t he precious?’

Marco glared from Mr. Beetle to the others, who did nothing to hide their lack of enthusiasm. Or maybe that was just how their faces were shaped. Marco wasn’t sure.

‘I don’t know,’ one of them said hesitantly. ‘It… _he_ … isn’t really what you’d expect on the Beetle Ball…’

‘Exactly! Isn’t he a brilliant surprise number?’

‘But you promised beauty,’ another pointed out. ‘And he… really is not…’

An awkward silence fell over them. Mr. Beetle’s earlier so stubborn hold of Marco had loosened somewhat, and his fingers twitched as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Marco didn’t know what to think; he was too surprised by this sudden turn of events to grasp fully what they were saying.

‘I mean, just look at his arms!’ the beetles continued.  ‘Only two? That’s so unnerving to look at, honestly.’

‘And where are his antennae? His face is so strange.’

They continued to mention all the faults they could find, pointing out everything that didn’t make him the perfect beetle — and considering he wasn’t a beetle in the first place, the list grew long. Mr. Beetle’s arms untangled themselves from around Marco, the disgust in his movement so clear Marco stepped aside more out of shame than because he simply wanted to get away.

‘In short,’ one of the others concluded with the rest nodding along, ‘he’s repulsive.’

All eyes bored down on Marco, who felt very small and very embarrassed under all their judgement. Mr. Beetle fidgeted with his long fingers, avoiding to meet Marco’s eyes. ‘I’ll… get rid of him,’ he said finally. But he still hesitated to step closer, and only gestured to Marco to walk back outside by himself. There was no trace left of all the inappropriate compliments he’d been showering Marco with before. Not that Marco wanted any of them, but this treatment made him feel ill in a different way.

‘Could you…uhm.’ Marco gazed to the tree tops, making a small gesture with his hand. ‘Before down, could you _please_ take me up there—’

‘Sorry, sweets,’ Mr. Beetle cut him off; this time it was clear by his tone that the nickname had the opposite meaning. He grabbed hold of Marco with a displeased grimace, and dropped to the ground as fast as he could to let go. Once they had a more comfortable space between them, Mr. Beetle dared a teasing wink as goodbye. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get over me!’

Marco huffed to himself. But it was good he’d gotten away from there without much trouble — even though he’d lost a chance to find his home from the tree top.

Uncertain of what to do now, Marco gazed around, searching for anything familiar. To be fair, much of the forest looked the same to him, and he knew Mr. Beetle had flown them too far for him to possibly find his way back to his bug friends.

Marco was wandering around aimlessly when he heard someone walking at a furious speed somewhere close by. Worried about meeting another creepy stranger, Marco hurried to hunch down behind the nearest mushroom, hoping it’d be enough. Then the toad appeared; Marco held the grass so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The toad grumbled to himself, repeating teasing comments his brothers had voiced when they came back with both boy and lily pad gone, and then cursed them loudly and kicked at a pebble.

Fear tied itself into a knot in Marco’s throat. He had been so certain he’d come far enough for the toads not to find him again, and yet here the worst of them was. Angry and determined to get justice for how he had been ridiculed by his fiancé leaving him right before the wedding. That he’d never gotten a yes in the first place didn't seem to matter.

Marco didn’t know where he was. He didn't know which direction was the right one. But he was all alone with no help in sight, and he knew he had to get away from here before the toad saw him. So once the toad had passed he backed away as silently as he managed, careful with each step not to crack any part of the dying leaves under his feet. Then he turned and ran. Ran and ran, not caring where he went as long as it was far from the toad. His heart raced and his legs grew tired, but he refused to slow down until he either fell or knew for certain the toad wasn’t following him. It took a long time after finally stopping for him to calm his pulse and breathing.

The weather grew chilly as evening fell, and Marco was lucky to find a few berries to save and a small hole in the ground for him to use as cover. He had seen no trace of life since the toad, and miserable he wondered if all those who might have helped him had already retreated to their winter sleep.

That night the frost came, worse than usual as if to make up for the days it had been delayed. Marco found the grass and leaves covered in crisp white when he came out the next morning, and it was with a sinking heart he realised he would have little chance of finding any more food. He ate what he had saved and then left the hole in search for somewhere warmer, for he knew staying there would only bring him harm.

Later that day, something white and wet fell from above, the descent soft like that of the leaves but instead of peace they brought doom in their wake.

Snow.

‘Oh no’, Marco whispered. His hands were already so cold even pressing them into the fleeting warmth between arm and ribcage couldn’t stop them from shaking. All of him was. ‘No, please no…’

But the snow kept falling, covering the ground in grey, wet ice. It still melted away, though, and the layer remained shallow enough for Marco to wade through. His skin was turning blue in the cold; his shoes left his ankles bare, and the trousers only reached below his knees. He held his naked arms tight around himself, but any warmth he’d first managed to keep was already long gone.

It wasn’t until dark had fallen and the promise of storm blew through the trees, that Marco stumbled upon an old shoe abandoned by a fallen tree. The toe gaped open, useless now in keeping a human foot warm and no doubt the reason its owner had left it there. But to Marco it offered safety; even the sock remained, and it was with desperate hands Marco wrapped the cloth around his trembling form.

Lying there, Marco watched the snow, feeling more miserable with every passing second. He tried to dream himself away to the warmth of Jean’s arms, but all that happiness seemed so far away he wasn’t sure it had been real at all. The comments of the beetles echoed in his mind, and all alone and cold it was hard not to wonder if their words held truth. Maybe he really was repulsive. Maybe Jean was happy he was gone.

No. He shook his head and wiped away the tears before they fell. He mustn’t think that way. Jean was searching for him, he was sure. Still, even if the bird found Jean, how was any of them going to find Marco? He was far away from the welcoming bugs, and the storm was only getting worse.

‘Oh Mother,’ Marco sighed, his voice small and broken. ‘I wish I was home.’ He curled up in his makeshift bed, pulling the cloth over his head to protect against the snowy wind. Hopefully, tomorrow would be better.

\- - -

During the days since Marco’s disappearance, Jean had barely rested at all. He flew from place to place, urging his bumblebee to go faster, and called for Marco through the wind. He found the small lake where the toads used to perform, and a few creatures there confirmed they’d seen Marco. But neither he nor the toads were there now, and no one knew when they might be back.

So Jean flew on.

He crossed fields now empty of harvest, swept between tree trunks close to the roots and up through the crowns, Marco’s name always on his lips. Worry and desperation grew, tripling with each night. Increasing like the building storm.

When he spotted a small gathering of bugs hiding in a stump, he instructed the bumblebee to drop lower to speak to them. Tired but determined, he climbed off the back and landed in front of the curious group.

‘Excuse me,’ he started, removing his helmet to be politer in his approach. ‘I… I’m looking for a boy about my size, kind and beautiful. He was taken away by toads—’

‘You’re the fairy prince!’ a child burst out, wide eyes and fingers pointing. An older one gave her a scolding look for interrupting, but in general they all seemed more surprised and curious than bothered by the child being rude.

Jean was surprised too, but nodded. ‘I am, yes.’

‘Marco was here with us!’ another child continued, his green eyes filled with hurt and anger. ‘But when we were out playing, a beetle came and took him!’

‘A beetle?’ Jean repeated, his skin crawling.

The children all nodded, and an older one added, ‘The toad was here too demanding to know where Marco had gone, but we wouldn't tell him anything.’

Jean let out a shaky breath. What nasty mess had he brought Marco into? ‘Do you know where the beetle went?’ he asked, worried for a negative answer. ‘What direction?’

They explained to Jean about how they’d been farther into the woods at the time, but that the beetle mentioned the Beetle Ball. ‘It’s a monthly feast held in one of the Elder Trees,’ one of the older bugs finished. ‘If you know how to get there…?’

‘Yes, yes I do.’ Jean rubbed his temples in thought. ‘It’s farther down the river, by a lake.’ He gazed down the waterway before turning back towards the gathering with a bow. ‘Thank you all so much. You don't know how much this helped.’

‘We all hope for you to find him soon,’ the elderly bug continued, eyes turned towards the sky. ‘This storm is only going to get worse.’

‘I know.’ Jean was just about to return to his bumblebee when another thought hit him; he spun around, unfastened a small bag from his belt and opened it to let golden fairy dust spill out into his hand. All healthy fairies produced this dust as naturally as breathing, but Jean’s mother had insisted he also carried with him some extra just in case something bad would happen while he was out alone. ‘Should you find him first, please use this,’ Jean instructed, holding out his palm with the gleaming dust raining from his fingers. ‘It’s magic, a-and it can help give him strength if he…’ Jean swallowed, not wishing to voice the words. ‘If he’s hurt…’

The bugs took the small sachet, promising to keep all eyes open for Marco. And with that, Jean sat up on the bumblebee, flying back into the storm. His heart was heavy, but at least now he had a lead to follow.

But Jean didn’t know the rejected toad had also been listening, still lurking in the grass and plotting his plan to get Marco back. Hearing of the beetle he too was filled with rage, and he jumped into the water as soon as he heard where to find them. It was especially frustrating because he had already been down there before but without knowing he should have been looking for beetles to find the boy. At least he knew now, and he was a fast swimmer — with the storm building in the sky, the waterway might even be faster than attempting to fly. But as he swam through the cold water, it dawned on him that even if he came there first, the fairy prince would follow soon after — and he wasn’t foolish enough to not realise that given the choice, Marco would go with the prince. For himself to have any chance in the end he must first of all get rid of the competition.

In the air, Jean continued shouting for Marco as he and his bumblebee tried to navigate through the storm. It was getting increasingly difficult to stay on course, but the bumblebee did everything in his power to force them in the right direction. It only got worse as the snowfall got heavier; now they also had to avoid being hit to the ground.

Dark had fallen when Jean finally saw the Elder Trees. The bumblebee’s buzz was exhausted and hurting; he shouldn’t be out here now, struggling against fierce winds. He should be home resting and regaining his energy with the help of the magical fairy dust. As it was now, it was quickly draining away, and Jean felt terrible for forcing his friend through all this. But they both knew he had no chance of finding Marco on his own.

‘We’re almost there!’ Jean said, patting the tired head. ‘Only a little bit further.’

The bumblebee pushed on, stubborn and determined not to let Jean down.

But then the increasing wind and snow knocked them off balance, sending them spinning towards the ground at a terrifying speed. Jean lost his grip of the antennae, but hoped the bumblebee would be able to steer himself upright without Jean’s weight on his back. It turned out to be too big of a challenge for both of them, and separated they tumbled towards the dark lake below.

Jean fell into the snow with a splash, grey slush wetting his clothes and making him even colder than he already was. Luckily a thin layer of ice had already spread over the surface, and it saved him from plunging right into the freezing water.

Shivering and hunching against the wind, Jean fumbled with cold fingers to remove the helmet from his head; the wind caught in his straw-blonde locks, so strong Jean nearly fell over again. Being able to fly was of no help in this weather; all his wings did was swing him this way and that as the wind grabbed hold of them. Jean tried to flatten them against his back, but it was little he could do against the forces of nature. After all, there was a reason fairies never ventured outside in winter.

Jean squinted through the storm, finding the dark shape of his bumblebee where he had fallen. He buzzed unhappily, the sound weak and tired. Stumbling over with arms tightly crossed over his chest to hold in any remaining warmth, Jean’s heart fell.

‘Come on, buddy,’ he tried, his shaking hands trying to push the bumblebee back up. But the response was so faint, so lacking of energy and life, and Jean’s eyes filled with tears. The end was looming over them; with enough fairy dust they might have been able to save the bumblebee, but on his own out here with barely enough to keep himself going there was nothing he could do. ‘I’m so s-sorry,’ he managed to get out, voice trembling with both cold and grief. He kneeled, resting his hand on the bumblebee’s head. ‘You should be going to rest at home, not out here in this storm because of me…’

The bumblebee buzzed low in response and then fell silent and still; Jean closed his eyes with neck bent, the tears like tiny ice stars falling from his cheeks.

He allowed himself a moment to collect himself before he forced himself back up on his feet. He must get away from this lake. Grieving had to wait. But he would be back. He promised he’d return for his friend and use everything in him to make this right.

Hugging himself tightly, he stared through the dark and tried see what direction was closest to land. When he hoped he’d found the right one, he pushed on, hunched against the wind and every step small. As he got closer, he made out a dark shape of someone standing there. He was still too far away to see what kind of creature it was, but if someone was still out in this weather they might be able to help him. ‘Hello?’ Jean called, the wind whining past and stealing away the sound of his voice. ‘Hello, can you hear me?’

But the creature wasn’t moving, other than the wicked smile forming on its face. Dread washed over Jean’s skin, and if he hadn’t already been so cold he would have recognised the shiver running down his spine that always told him something was very wrong. Then the creature shifted, only to gain more strength and force to the blow, before it speared the ice with a stick.

The layer was so thin, so fragile, and it cracked without resistance, spreading like lightning did across the sky. Jean had barely enough time to shout out, ‘Stop!’ before the ice gave away under his feet and the water closed over his head.

Jean had never known such cold. It cut into him like blades without drawing blood, and it took everything in him to keep his lips pressed tight not to yell out in pain and fill his lungs with water. With painful strokes he pushed back toward the surface. Gasping for air and with tears frozen to his eyelashes, he clawed for a way up on the firmer ice.

He’d just seen the green feet before fingers grabbed his hair, pulling him up from the ice and holding him by his protesting roots back over the water. Jean gritted his teeth against the pain, his fingers too numb to be of any use fighting the other set buried in his hair. He kicked his feet to no avail, for there was nothing in the water to support him. Only the black, fluid depths waiting beneath.

‘I would invite you to my wedding,’ said his captor, and blinking up at him, Jean now realised it was a toad. And not just any toad at that; Jean knew what those words meant, and his insides screamed at the thought of Marco being stolen by this vile creature. He struggled harder, every part of him cold and protesting his own movements but he couldn’t give up. _He couldn't._ The toad wasn’t fazed at all, though. His wicked grin only widened. ‘But I think it’s better this way.’

‘No, no, don’t—!’

‘Bye, bye, fairy prince,’ said the toad, and pushed Jean back under the water.

The toad removed his hand from the icy lake, instead using the stick to hold Jean down. Jean grabbed for it but his struggle was useless. It got harder and harder to move, and pain shot through him from where his icy wings were attached to his back. All he was able to do was watch in panic as the surface froze yet again, closing above him. Reaching deeper this time. Wrapping around him until all he knew was darkness and such cold even his blood turned to ice.

Above, the storm caught a string of flowers from the snow. It was the one Jean had carried around his neck since Marco gave it to him their first night together, preserved for weeks by his magic. But now without him, and torn around by nature’s forces, the blue petals of the forget-me-nots fell apart, scattering in the violent wind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's update time! Only one chapter left after this one...
> 
> Again, sorry for all the sads ;; I promise everything will be happy in the end! <3
> 
>  
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

Marco had forgotten how it felt to wake up wrapped in a warm blanket. He stretched and yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up and looked around the earthy chamber he was in. It was a cosy place, full of things he recognised from home but all used in different ways from how his mother did. His bed was a wooden ladle, he noticed, and close by stood a cracked teapot used as a fireplace. But although it all was very nice he was bewildered, for he had no idea how he had gotten there. The last thing he knew was spending a whole day cold in that shoe, the storm far too strong for him to dare leaving. Then he had fallen asleep wrapped in the sock a second night, hungry and shivering and miserable.

The scent of cooking food wafted through the air, and his stomach growled while his mouth watered at the thought of finally eating something warm.

That's when a mouse came in from another room, her eyes and grin widening as she found him sitting up in bed. ‘Ahh you're finally awake!’ she said, walking over to the table with the steaming tray she carried. ‘Perfect timing, dear. I almost wondered if you'd wake up at all, you've been unconscious for so long.’

Marco climbed out of bed, eager for the food but also cautious. He didn’t know who this mouse was, after all. ‘Where am I?’ he started, looking around again.

‘In my home, of course! Deep underground where we don't have to worry about the winter. Dug it myself with my own two hands.’ She gestured towards the food. ‘Now come eat, dear. You must be starving.’

Marco’s stomach growled again, and the mouse laughed as she steered him over to the thimble she used as a chair. ‘Anyway, you can call me Ms. Fieldmouse,’ she said as he was seated. ‘And I’ll answer all your questions once you’ve eaten up!’

Marco had had his fair share of bad experiences with strangers, and here was another one who had brought him to her home without asking him first. But he had also fallen asleep so cold he feared he would never wake up again, and now he was warm and offered more food than he’d had in days. Trusting the mouse or not, he couldn’t afford not to eat what he was given. Besides, down here the toad wouldn’t be able to find him. Ms. Fieldmouse might have saved him from more than just the snow.

So Marco ate of the steaming stew, and it tasted so good he almost wept in relief. Once he was done, Ms. Fieldmouse handed him a cup of tea, and started showing him around her home. She slept in a another room, decorated with big, old keys and heaps of gold coins she must have found after humans dropped them in the woods. They gleamed in the candlelight, and she showed great pride in her collection.

‘There’s something I don’t understand,’ she said, chuckling to herself. ‘Did you really expect to survive the winter in that old shoe?’

Marco’s eyes fell to the ground, embarrassed even though it had never been his plan to stay in the shoe. None of this was according to his plans. He held his fingers tighter around his hot cup at the memory of the freezing cold. ‘I just wanted to go home,’ he mumbled.

‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here till spring, Marco.’

It took a moment extra before Marco remembered he had never introduced himself to his hostess. He stared at her in shock as she offered a secretive smile. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘Oh, I know far more than that!’ she said, waving her hand as she returned to the teapot fireplace. She chopped more pieces from the carrot lying beside it and spread them over the boiling water hanging over the flames. ‘You were engaged to the fairy prince… Jean, if I remember correctly?’ She looked at Marco, waiting for him to confirm that she was right.

‘Well, almost,’ he said, and before he had time to question her use of past tense in the sentence, she turned back towards the carrot.

‘And I’ve heard all about that disgusting toad and terrible beetle — such awful creatures, both of them.’

Marco nodded in silence, sipping his tea.

‘It's a heartbreaking story, all of it,’ Ms. Fieldmouse continued, sounding more delighted than devastated. ‘How the fairy prince was looking all over for you, not even giving up when the storm made it impossible to fly…’

Marco's eyes snapped up to her back, his chest filling with love and hope. Jean was searching for him! Of course he was. And if Ms. Fieldmouse had heard about this, there must be a way to get in contact with him, to let him know Marco was here—

‘And then,’ Ms. Fieldmouse said, stabbing the carrot with all the force in her body, ‘they find him frozen to death in the snow. So awfully, awfully tragic!’

Every thought was wiped clean from Marco’s mind, filling him instead with heavy dread. He didn't hear that right. He couldn't have… ‘Wh—what?’ he managed to get out, his voice weak and shaking.

But Ms. Fieldmouse didn't hear him. ‘I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, dear,’ she said, sounding no sadder than she had done before. ‘It must have been a nightmare to find out about it!’

Marco couldn't breathe. Icy fingers held tight around his throat, another hand twisting in his stomach. He felt sick, dizzy, darkness creeping in at the corner of his eyes. Tears slid down his cheeks, confused and disbelieving. It couldn't be right. It had to be a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding…

Ms. Fieldmouse’s eyes widened when she saw him. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I thought you knew.’

No. No no no _please no_. Marco backed away, shaking his head. This wasn’t real. He was still asleep and cold in that shoe, alone but waiting for Jean to find him and take him home. This was all a nightmare he would wake up from.

But deep inside, he knew the hot cup in his hands was all too real. The taste of the food had still lingered on his tongue a moment ago. And he had seen the terrible storm with his own eyes, wondering how anyone could survive out here.  

The teacup left his fingers, shattering against the floor like his aching heart fell to pieces in his chest.

\- - -

There, deep down under the earth, Marco had no way of telling how long time passed — hours, days, months? — and neither had he any will to keep track of it. He lay curled up in the bed Ms. Fieldmouse had first prepared for him, cheeks red and dry as all the tears had left his eyes. He must be a pathetic sight, but he cared little for such a thing. He tried to shut everything out of his mind, wished to just be left there in oblivious sleep. But memories of Jean kept forcing their way in. His golden wings and eyes shining like the sunlight now long gone. His loving voice still so clear in Marco’s ears he woke up believing Jean was right beside him.

He never was, though. Instead, terrible images filled Marco’s mind, of how the storm and cold must have stolen all life from Jean’s small body. How all his strength was frozen inside, until all that remained was a lifeless form in the snow, so small it was lucky to have been found at all. Then Marco cried again, for no matter how many times he thought he was nothing but a shell empty of tears, new ones always found their way to his eyes and down his cheeks.

Ms. Fieldmouse’s patience wasn’t eternal, though. At the start she waltzed around her home, humming songs and chatting with Marco, apparently not caring that he offered no replies. But as time passed, she finally had enough of his crying. ‘I did not bring you in from the snow just to have you lying here all winter while I do all the work to feed us both!’ she said, pulling at his arm to force him up into a sitting position. Marco let himself be led, but without any strength to sit up straight. His shoulders sagged, his neck was bent, and eyes stared unseeing at the floor. ‘Now, now, I understand you’re sad, but enough of it!’ Ms. Fieldmouse continued, fussing with something beside him. ‘No more moping; you are young and there are many more men in the woods!’

A lonely tear trickled down Marco’s cheek. ‘None like him,’ he whispered, hugging himself tightly. The chamber was supposed to be so warm, and yet he was freezing. ‘He was perfect…’

Ms. Fieldmouse snorted from where she stood by the fireplace. ‘No one is perfect, dear.’

Marco didn’t reply. He only closed his eyes and wished to sink deeper into the earth. To just disappear.

‘Now, get yourself cleaned up,’ Ms. Fieldmouse called for him. ‘We’re going to visit my dear friend, Mr. Mole. His eyesight is not the best, but he loves pretty things so we can’t have you looking like a mess! And ohh, I’ve heard that you have a beautiful singing voice — you must sing to him, Marco.’

‘I don’t really feel like singing…’

‘What?’ Ms. Fieldmouse snapped. ‘Is that how you thank me? You do realise I saved your life, hm? Have you no manners?’

Marco flinched, more at her words than her tone. New tears fell from his eyes, his voice barely audible. ‘I’m sorry…’

Ms. Fieldmouse dabbed at Marco’s cheeks with a handkerchief, trying to wash away the grief burned into his skin. She huffed to herself, deeming it as good as it could get, and then wrapped a shawl around his shoulders before urging him on.

The mole lived deeper down into the earth, their homes connected by tunnels. He was rich, the king of a grand hall with floor and walls sparkling with all the beautiful things he had collected. If Marco hadn’t been so filled with grief he would have admired it with shining eyes.

‘This is the new friend I told you about,’ Ms. Fieldmouse said, pushing Marco forward as she introduced him. Marco forced a smile, hoping the mole didn’t notice the difference from a genuine one.

‘Oh, from _up there_ , I hear,’ said Mr. Mole with a grimace. ‘A terrible place.’ Then he peered closer down at Marco, taking his hand in greeting. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Marco. Do come in, both of you. But don’t touch anything. These are _my_ things.’

Ms. Fieldmouse offered the basket of corn cakes she had made Marco carry for her, and Mr. Mole took one with delighted sniffing.

‘Now, tell us about _up there_ ,’ he said as he led them deeper into his cave. He walked with a golden needle for a cane, sometimes gesturing with it for extra emphasis. ‘I went up once. Nearly blinded me. I hurried as fast as I could back down where it’s dark and decent.’

Marco hummed, glancing at Ms. Fieldmouse who was too busy admiring all the gold to pay attention to their conversation. ‘I love the light,’ he said, doing his best to ignore the sting of pain piercing his heart at the memories it brought.

Mr. Mole shook himself in disgust. ‘I hate it! End of story.’

‘Story!’ Ms. Fieldmouse called from the soft chair she had sat down in. ‘Marco, tell Mr. Mole a story. A lovely, sad story.’ She sighed as she rested against the back, smiling at Mr. Mole when he sat down in the bigger chair beside her. ‘I love tragic love stories, don’t you?’

Marco watched them with unease swirling in his stomach. He didn’t want to be the centre of their attention, and he definitely didn’t want to tell them a sad love story. ‘I don’t know,’ he started, but was cut short by a pointed glare from Ms. Fieldmouse.

‘Sing for Mr. Mole, Marco,’ she said, placing extra force in each word to make sure he understood he was not allowed to refuse.

So, swallowing the bad taste in his mouth and forcing back the tears pressing behind his eyes, he sat down on a musical box decorated with sparkling crystals, and sang. He sang about the sunlight, all while imagining the way it had sparkled in Jean’s wings. How warm and safe he’d been, bathed in the early autumn rays, with Jean’s arms around him as the sun set on the horizon. But the snow and cold had come, and all that was good was gone. ‘The winter has killed everything,’ he whispered at the end, blinking away the tears. ‘Even the sun…’

Ms. Fieldmouse clapped her hands, but Mr. Mole only muttered about how much he hated the sun. Marco tried not to listen.

‘And now,’ Mr. Mole said as he pushed himself up from the chair, ‘I have a story to tell you.’ He led them out from his hall into the tunnels, dug deep and dark with more gold collected along the way. That morning, he told them, when he was out for his early morning stroll, he had stumbled across the most extraordinary thing in one of these tunnel — a dead bird. How on earth had it ended up there?

‘Oh, well, I’m certainly glad I’m not a bird,’ he informed them as he walked them across a bridge in a cave holding his collection of dead insects pinned to the wall. ‘Bothering the world with endless twittering.’

Marco stared up and down in the dimly lit place, feeling sick at the sight that met him from all sides. The beetles might not have treated him well, but no creature deserved such a fate as this. Some were butterflies, too, their beautiful big wings never again flying them through the air. The size of them reminded Marco of Jean’s wings, and he shuddered into the shawl before hurrying after the others. He liked Mr. Mole less and less for each passing moment in his presence.

Then there they were, in the tunnel where the dead bird lay among the dusty treasures, cold and frozen and lifeless. Marco pressed his hands to his mouth, trying but failing to hold in the gasp leaving him. It was the young swallow who had saved him from the waterfall.

‘Oh no,’ he whispered, rushing past the surprised Mr. Mole and Ms. Fieldmouse. He hunched down to his knees, leaning into the cold feathers with tears streaming down his cheeks. They too had been out in the storm trying to help him, and this was what they’d paid for it. The guilt was terrible to bear, hurting in Marco’s chest as much as the grief. How could this be? How could everything he loved be snatched from him this way?

Not caring about the other two watching and mumbling about him, he buried his face in the bird’s chest, wishing he knew how to turn back time and undo all the terrible things that had happened. But then he heard it; the faint beating of a heart. He straightened up again, hands stroking over the birds still head. ‘You’re alive,’ he exhaled, relief washing over him, just as Ms. Fieldmouse called for him to come. It was time to go home. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered to his friend and wrapped the shawl over their chest. ‘I’ll be back. I’ll find a way to help you.’

Marco returned that night, as well as many days that followed. He stayed with Ms. Fieldmouse through the winter, working hard with the household and food to keep himself busy and not giving himself any chance to fall back into despair. His heart still ached though, and tears wetted his blanket at night, but he couldn’t give up. There was a friend in need of his help, and he had to stay strong if he was to nurse them back to health.

He visited the bird as often as he was able to, bringing food and warm blankets. The bird was weak and often slept, but once Marco managed to remove the thorn stuck in their wing, they slowly recovered their health.

Mr. Mole noticed him coming, of course, and while he didn’t understand what on earth Marco saw in a bird better left to die, he did admire the kindness in Marco’s heart. That was why he one day invited Ms. Fieldmouse to seek her help with an idea that had been forming in his head during the past weeks.

‘You know I have been meaning to marry for some time now,’ he said. ‘I find myself lonely for companionship.’

‘What a lovely idea,’ Ms. Fieldmouse replied, clasping her hands together. Finally, the day had come, and not a moment too soon.

‘And I wonder if—’

‘Yes?’ she urged, leaning closer with fluttering eyelashes.

‘If I could ask you to help me persuade Marco to marry me.’ Mr. Mole straightened up at his full height, proud of having spoken his request. It had been bothering him, after all, but now it was out and no need for him to take it back.

‘Marco?’ Ms. Fieldmouse repeated. She wasn’t good at hiding her disappointment. So long had she worked on earning the mole’s friendship, hoping to one day get to share his incredible treasures. And now instead she had to help him get married to this fragile, lost boy.

‘For your service in helping to arrange this match,’ Mr. Mole continued as he leaned down to pick up one of the gold coins from the floor, ‘I will reward you handsomely.’

Instantly changing her approach to the matter, Ms. Fieldmouse snatched the gold coin from his hands. ‘Oh I will, I will!’ she promised, grinning wide at her own reflection in the coin. ‘Don’t you worry, Mr. Mole. I’ll arrange all of it, trust me.’

Marco wasn’t around to overhear this exchange, but he soon picked up on Ms. Fieldmouse’s hints and comments on what a fine rodent Mr. Mole was. The richest one for miles around. Educated, well dressed, highly thought of, with a big, safe home to offer in a marriage. Marco did his best to play ignorant in his responses, not wanting to encourage another proposal. He wanted only one, and now he would never get it, never hear those words spoken from the boy his heart belonged to. He had no wish to marry anyone else.

‘It sounds like you and him would fit well together,’ Marco said at one point when she refused to shut up, offering his most innocent smile.

Ms. Fieldmouse laughed. ‘ _Me_ marrying him? Don’t be silly, dear. He has his eyes set on someone else entirely.’ And her own eyes said it all as they pierced Marco with a stare, but he turned away and pretended he hadn’t noticed.

She became more insistent though. Slowly but steadily she made her intentions clear, and whenever Marco visited Mr. Mole’s tunnels to tend to the bird, it became harder and harder to slip away from Mr. Mole’s invitations to come in for a chat. If only spring would come faster, Marco prayed, so he wouldn’t have to stay down here any longer. But of course, the closer to spring they came, the more urgent it was for Ms. Fieldmouse to make him accept the unspoken proposal.

‘You really should consider it, Marco,’ she said one evening after dinner. ‘I know you’ve figured it out by now and are only trying to avoid the unavoidable. It’s a fine match for you.’

Marco was so tired of people trying to make him marry against his will, and he shook his head angrily with arms crossed over his chest. ‘How could I possibly marry Mr. Mole?’ he asked. ‘I don’t love him!’

‘Love?’ Ms. Fieldmouse laughed. ‘Love is what we read about in stories, dear. It never lasts. Just look at what happened with your _love_.’

Marco rose from the table and turned to leave without a word, hurt and anger burning in his eyes. But Ms. Fieldmouse was quicker; she grabbed his arm and held him back. ‘Love won’t pay for a home or put porridge in your bowl. Think about that!’

She then let Marco tear his arm free, huffing to herself as he stormed out. She still had time to make him come around.

Alone in the cold, dark tunnels, Marco allowed the tears to fall before wiping them away. He was used to her speaking that way, saying things in more hurtful ways than necessary. She probably didn’t mean to upset him, and had even apologised a few times, but she never seemed to learn from her mistakes. Marco had lost count of how many times she had referred to his relationship with Jean as a sad love story, and then shortly after adding how much she _loved_ sad love stories. It made Marco feel sick, but he bit his tongue for he didn’t want to give her another reason to be angry at him. It was enough that he made it difficult for her to succeed with the task Mr. Mole had given her.

Marco soon found himself sitting by the swallow, who opened their eyes when noticing his closeness. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ they said, then rose up on unsteady claws. ‘I think I’m well enough to leave now, but didn’t want to go without letting you know.’

Marco looked on with concerned eyes. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘You should be resting for a few days more, at least…’

But the bird shook their head, rising to their full height. ‘I need to find the Vale of the Fairies,’ they said, eyes sparkling. ‘And the prince. He will take you out of these dark tunnels!’

Marco’s heart sank. ‘That’s impossible,’ he said, voice low.

‘Impossible?’ the bird repeated, spreading their wings. ‘No, no. Nothing is impossible! Remember what I said, Marco? You must trust your heart.’

But Marco’s heart was long ago broken, the pieces never really fitting together again. He tried to make the bird listen, but the bird who had been born with the odds against them, a wing too small and so much weaker than their siblings, was determined to never give up on anything. Their enthusiasm made them deaf to Marco’s pleas for them to stop, and as they rose through the air toward the hole they’d fallen through, they once again promised Marco to find his love and home.

Sinking to his knees, Marco held his arms around himself. ‘Please, please stop torturing me,’ he whispered, eyes shut to hold back the tears. ‘Jean is dead. He isn’t coming back.’

But the tunnel was empty except for him, and again he found himself all alone, a small, small person far away from home without a friend within reach.

\- - -

Ms. Fieldmouse ignored what had happened, but kept quiet about marriages for the coming days. Marco still sensed her stares at his back, though, and she insisted he should come with her for every visit to Mr. Mole. Now that the bird was out from the tunnel, Marco had no reason to pass by himself, but being dragged there by Ms. Fieldmouse he also didn’t have any excuses not to stay longer when the mole asked him to. The conversations were slow and awkward, but at least Mr. Mole didn’t try to force him like the toad had done. Or maybe his method was just different, Marco mused when again noticing Ms. Fieldmouse glaring at him for not being more talkative and genuinely polite.

Sometimes, Marco managed to sneak away into the tunnel the bird had been in. He stood there staring towards the hole far, far up in the ceiling, longing to see a glimpse of sunlight break through the dark. It happened that it glimmered up there, but Marco must be too far down for it to reach him. His heart ached at the thought, and crestfallen he returned to the others. How would he even know when spring returned when he had no chance of seeing it himself? Ms. Fieldmouse was unlikely to tell him, unless she decided she’d had enough of him not listening to her and wanted to send him away. But something made Marco doubt that was likely to happen — she was too insistent to just let it go. And now without any other friends, Marco was both isolated and without any other source for information. He didn’t know what to do.

One day after yet another visit to Mr. Mole, Ms. Fieldmouse let out a deep sigh as they got inside her home. ‘I suppose I haven’t been treating you right, Marco,’ she said and sat down on a thimble.

Marco glanced at her with suspicion from where he stood by the fireplace, poking the burning wood with a stick. Her dramatic tone might have fooled him once, but by now he knew how to see through her pretence. This was just another way for her to get what she wanted.

‘Or at least that’s how you feel,’ she continued. ‘And I understand that. I’ve read and heard so many awfully tragic stories about lost love, and all those I’ve told about yours have been touched by its cruelty…’ She paused for a deep sigh, but she didn’t sound particularly heartbroken. ‘So I know well how you feel. And that’s why I only want what’s best for you, Marco, and as your friend—’

Marco closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, but Ms. Fieldmouse’s words just didn’t slide off him this time. He shoved the stick forcefully into the fire, and burst out, ‘Will you stop saying that?’

Ms. Fieldmouse’s eyes were wide when he turned towards her, a hand pressed to her chest in offended alarm. ‘Excuse me?!’ she spluttered out, dangerous anger quickly replacing her surprise.

But Marco wouldn’t back down. ‘Someone very dear to me is dead,’ he said, emphasising every word to make her understand. ‘And all you’re thinking about is how well it fits into your precious collection of tragic love stories! This isn’t a story, this is… this is my _life_. A-and his life,’ he added with a slight shake to his voice, tears stinging in his eyes. ‘Please just stop.’

Ms. Fieldmouse huffed and turned her back to him, showing no guilt for the pain her words had caused. In that moment, Marco knew he couldn’t stay with her any longer.  

‘And it doesn’t matter what you say,’ he continued, walking over to his bed to grab his old set of clothes that Ms. Fieldmouse had showed him how to mend after how the forest had torn the cloth. ‘I’m not going to marry Mr. Mole. I’m leaving.’

Marco wondered if he could keep the shirt she had given him, or if he should change before asking her to take him out. But he had no time to voice any question, for the next moment her claws closed tight around his wrist, turning him towards her and pulling him close.

‘You better rethink that very carefully, dear,’ she hissed, pressing him down by towering over him. ‘For I will not let you stand between me and the riches I’ve been promised, even if that means I’d have bite your pretty face to make you behave!’

Marco's eyes widened. Fear rushed cold down his back at the sight of the pure malice in her eyes and the sharp teeth looming so close. He had doubted she really cared for him, but never expected this. Ms. Fieldmouse forced him through the closest door, her claws cutting through his skin without any care for the trickling blood or the whimper of pain that escaped him. Once he was pushed inside the tiny room, she slammed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.

Scrambling back up on his feet, Marco yanked at the door knob but the door stood firm in its locked state. Panic was rising inside of him, but he fought with himself to stay calm. ‘You can’t keep me locked in here!’ he yelled and banged once on the door.

‘Oh on the contrary, my dear,’ Ms. Fieldmouse replied from the other side. ‘No one knows where you are. You might as well be dead! There’s no one still out searching for you. You’re all alone, so I advise you to work harder on making friends from now on.’

With that she left Marco in the small chamber, setting to arrange the wedding in only a few days’ time. She went over to Mr. Mole to let him know the good news, and then they sent out all the invitations together. They soon received excited responses from other rodents eager to come.

During this time, Marco sat with his back to the door and knees drawn up to his chest. The old shirt his mother had sewn for him so long ago was now ruined by blood stains from the scratches on his arm, and he held it pressed to his chest, desperately clinging to the only thing he had left of home.

There were many times he’d felt uncomfortable or hurt since he’d first woken up here, but now for the first time true fear filled him. Ms. Fieldmouse was right. Only the bird knew he was below ground, but they were probably far away by now, searching for someone who had been frozen dead for months. There was no chance they would come back in time to save him — for even if they did find their way back to the tunnel, how would they possibly find him _here?_

Ms. Fieldmouse called through the door for him to let him know she was preparing his wedding clothes, the cheer in her voice showing no sign of the threatening tone she had used before. But he was still locked in, a prisoner she was without remorse about to sell to the mole. He no longer remembered how it had felt like to be safe and brave, like nothing was impossible to achieve. All he knew was crippling fear and grief for all he had lost and was about to lose. The tear tracks down his cheeks filled in anew, and small and scared, he buried his face in his arms.

\- - -

Above ground, the snow lay deep and cold. The toad had found himself a cave to live in during the winter, for he refused to return to his family before having freed himself from the shame that had been brought upon him.

He had found the beetle eventually, but no Marco. Hearing the nasty way the beetle spoke about his beloved, the toad tore the wings from the beetle’s back. ‘You’ll get them back when you find him,’ said the toad. It wasn’t more than right, he thought. Marco would be his already if the beetle hadn’t interfered and taken him away, just to call him ugly.

Mr. Beetle couldn’t believe his bad luck. He’d spent the winter without wings, freezing in the snow on his quest to get them back, all because of a tiny human with too few arms. He regretted the moment he had first heard Marco’s voice, regretted ever interacting with him at all. Why didn’t the toad see what his band mates had made Mr. Beetle realise — that the boy wasn’t really that pretty and definitely not worth all this trouble? ‘Can’t you just marry a toad?’ he asked once, to which the toad answered with furious grumbling. Fearing he’d lose one of his arms next, Mr. Beetle didn’t dare say anything about it again.

The toad had listened to another piece of advice though; using the prince as bait. If he wanted Marco to come to him, he needed to lure him there with something. So the toad had told Mr. Beetle where the prince was, ordering him to cut him out of the lake and bring him to the toad’s cave. But the ice cube containing the frozen prince had now stood there in the snow for weeks, and no Marco had showed up. Mr. Beetle thought to himself that of course it wouldn’t work since the toad had already spread the news that the prince was dead; even if Marco heard some fleeting rumour about the location of his frozen love, would he really venture out into this weather when it was clear the prince was just as dead now as before?

He kept away from the toad not get targeted by his wrath, searching the forest for Marco. It all felt so pointless — if the boy had been alone out here when winter fell, he was no doubt buried deep in the snow by now, as dead as the prince. But the thought of bringing such news to the toad made Mr. Beetle shudder. So he hoped against hope to find Marco alive somewhere.

The snow had started melting by the time Mr. Beetle ended up by the chimney of Ms. Fieldmouse’s home. The voices from below were in an argument about a wedding, and one of them was very familiar. Mr. Beetle leaned closer, pricked up his ears to hear better, and a smile grew on his face. This was it! He had finally found the boy.

Returned to the cave, he waltzed inside with confidence back in his bones. ‘I know where he is,’ he told the toad. ‘Give me my wings and I’ll tell you.’

‘You tell me first,’ growled the toad with a grin. ‘And then I’ll give you your wings.’

Mr. Beetle shrugged. He hadn't expected anything else, but at least he had tried. So he told the toad what he had heard; Marco was underground and to be married to the mole very soon. ‘If I were you I’d hurry up and save him!’ he finished, grabbing for the arm of the furious toad. ‘But first I’d give me my wings back!’

‘ _You_ are coming with me,’ said the toad as he stomped out in the snow.

‘Coming with you?’ repeated Mr. Beetle. ‘Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere near the mole! Do you know what he does to beetles—?’

But the toad couldn’t care less about the beetle’s concerns. He pulled at a bony arm, so forceful Mr. Beetle stumbled and fell; instead the toad grabbed his leg and dragged him along as he stormed away towards the mole’s home, ignoring these protests just as he had ignored Marco’s. The toad always got what he wanted, whether or not anyone agreed with him.

As they disappeared, three tiny bugs peeked out from their hiding place close by. They were the children Marco had befriended before the beetle took him away, and they’d been spying on the toad for a long time. They found the cave by chance; during days with no storms looming in the sky, many of the bugs were out searching for Marco. A promise was a promise, they reasoned, and theirs had been to help him, not lose him to another nasty forest dweller. News about the prince’s death had reached them too, and this made them all the more anxious to find and help the poor boy.

Then the trio stumbled upon this cave, and in it was the prince. Frozen in ice, true, but given a chance they were sure they would be able to help him. They had the fairy dust he’d given them, after all.

The first time they tried to reach Jean the toad almost caught them, hunting after them with his long, dangerous tongue trying to catch himself a small meal. They fled in fear and didn’t dare try again as long as the toad lurked around the cave.

But now they didn’t hesitate before they hurried back inside. They lit a small fire by the ice cube, watching over it as it slowly melted away, releasing Jean from the prison.

Jean was pale and cold, his lifeless body heavy as they tried their best to drag him away from the remains of the melting ice. With stolen blankets from the toad, the bugs managed to rub warmth back into him, but his eyes remained closed and his form motionless.

‘The fairy dust!’ the smallest said as he remembered, gesturing for his friends to take out the tiny bag Jean had left with them. They poured a little over Jean’s face, and the golden sparkles brought some colour back to his cheeks.

Next the tips of his wings fluttered beneath him, catching the gleam of the dust and even producing a tiny bit of their own in response. It was followed by a violent shudder through his body as his eyes flew open and he gasped for air, panicked and staring.

Jean coughed and held his own shaking arms around himself in a desperate search for warmth, while the trio wrapped another blanket over his shoulders as they helped him up into a sitting position. Jean squinted at them with a concerned frown, his head still too cold for the memories to make any sense.

‘We’re friends,’ the smallest explained at the sight of Jean’s confusion. ‘You gave us this before, in case we found Marco first.’

Jean’s frown shifted slightly before he reached for the bag with desperate hands still shaking from the cold. He shouldn’t use all of it at once, but he needed more to regain his strength enough to get away from here. Wherever _here_ was… ‘Where am I?’ he asked, searching the cave with his eyes. He had a very bad feeling lying heavy in his stomach, and the sight of all the snow outside did nothing to help his growing fear. ‘Marco… I don’t… What happened?’

The trio told him then about how the toad had kept Jean frozen there all winter while still searching for Marco. Finding out that months had passed since his last own memory, Jean’s headache only grew. And learning that Marco was held captive underground, about to be forced into another marriage, Jean’s heart ached. His mind might not yet fully grasp what was happening, but it didn’t matter. The most important part was that he knew where Marco was, and that he needed his help.

He forced himself up on unsteady legs, leaning on the bug who offered her support. ‘Do you know where the mole lives?’ he asked, not daring to imagine what would happen if the bugs said no.

But they nodded, faces set in solemn determination.

The weakness still lay heavy over Jean's cold muscles, but there was no time for him to rest. So he took a deep breath, and his hand found the hilt of the sword still hanging from his hip. ‘Show me the way.’


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long this chapter's taken... but it's the longest one and has the Happy Ending, so hopefully that makes up for it. :') Thank you all who have supported and enjoyed this little project (that turned out much longer than originally planned) -- it's been lots of fun writing something like this, and even more so sharing it with you guys! <3 
> 
> New or old reader, I hope you enjoy the final chapter! Let me know what you think!
> 
> My [tumblr](http://emelianss.tumblr.com) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/emelianss).

The cave was full of guests waiting for the ceremony to begin. At the altar stood Mr. Mole, dressed in his finest suit and with a solemn but pleased expression on his face. He sometimes peered in the direction of the cave entrance, even though his eyesight was too bad for him to see much of it.

Marco hid in the shadows, fidgeting with his bouquet of weird underground flowers that looked more like mushrooms than the flora he knew from above. He felt ridiculous in his white tunic with its big, puffy sleeves and the large collar that apparently was in fashion among the rodents. At least that’s what Ms. Fieldmouse had said while forcing him to get dressed this morning.

Now she was checking over the final details of his clothes, not having left him alone a single moment since she let him out of his small prison. He had hoped for an opportunity to escape, but there was no such luck. When he asked to at least get to see the sun one last time before the wedding, Ms. Fieldmouse snorted with laughter and informed him she wasn't stupid. His little pretence to suddenly agree to it all didn't fool her.

‘Remember, Marco, if you try anything…’ Ms. Fieldmouse didn't finish her threat, but Marco knew anyway. He looked away from her as she waltzed down to her chair in the first row, leaving him with the big rat positioned by the tunnel entrance to make sure he wouldn't leave.

All of this had started with him escaping from a forced wedding, and now it ended with another. He had come nowhere and achieved nothing, while Jean sacrificed himself trying to save him. Marco shut his eyes tight and forced back the tears threatening behind them. How useless he was. Maybe it served him right to never see the sun again.

The orchestra started playing above him, tunes he had always imagined would fill his heart with happiness. But now they sounded as dreadful as a funeral march. With a final glance at the intimidating rat behind him, Marco stepped out on the blade of the sword working as an aisle. The spectators followed him with their eyes, some delighted, others looking concerned. Maybe they saw that he didn’t want this — or maybe they thought Mr. Mole could do so much better than this tiny, strange, wingless fairy-creature. But whatever went through their minds, no one raised as much as a finger to help him.

‘Mr. Mole,’ the priest started, nose deep in the book he was reading from, ‘do you take this young man to be your lawful wedded husband?’

Marco touched the gleaming stone of the ring on his finger — the ring Jean had given him so long ago. Ms. Fieldmouse had tried to make him remove it, but he refused to. She let him be, knowing he still had to exchange it for the ring Mr. Mole had waiting for him at the altar. He wouldn't, though. It was the last thing he had of Jean, and he was not to let them take it from him. What did it matter to them anyway? It had never been an official engagement; Jean gave it to him as a promise to never forget him. Now Marco kept it as a promise in return.

Mr. Mole cleared his throat. ‘I do.’

Never. He would never forget.

‘And uh, Marco, do you take this mole to be _your_ lawful wedded husband?’

Marco’s steps were slow, faltering, stopping. He stared ahead at the mole, who was smiling wide as he turned towards him where they now stood beside each other. No. No, he couldn't go through with this. He _couldn't_.

‘Never.’

The priest blinked. ‘What?’

‘ _Never_ ,’ Marco repeated, with more force this time. Mr. Mole’s excited expression broke into a sad, confused frown, but Marco pushed away the guilt from his heart.

‘I beg your pardon?’ the priest said.

‘I can’t marry Mr. Mole. I don't love him!’ Marco clarified and took a step back, begging for others to understand why he was doing this.

A loud gasp went through the spectators, but all faded compared to Ms. Fieldmouse’s angry, ‘Marco!’ from the first row. Marco met her stare, her eyes like a thunder storm, and he was afraid.

Then, before anyone had time to move, a green figure burst from the ceiling with a triumphant roar, landing right behind the couple that never really was. Small rocks rained down on them from the hole he had left behind; Marco tried to hide away from it, though he didn’t get far before slimy fingers closed around his wrist.

‘He’s marrying me!’ shouted the toad while pulling Marco closer.

But Marco had had enough. ‘No, I’m _not_ marrying you!’ he yelled back, tearing himself free and stomped down hard on the toad’s foot. ‘I’m not marrying any of you! I’m going _home_.’

And then he threw away the flowers as he ran back along the blade, chased by them all with the angry toad in the lead. The big rat guard had moved away from the opening once the procession had started, and now he was too slow to get back there in time to stop Marco from rushing out.

In the next cave, another pair of bony hands reached for Marco’s clothes, holding him back. ‘Hello there, sweets,’ Mr. Beetle said, flashing him a sleazy smile.

‘I’m not your sweets,’ Marco snapped, running on without caring about the sleeve tearing as Mr. Beetle tried to hold him back. He ran and ran through the tunnels and caves, hoping he was going in the direction of an exit and not deeper down into the earth. The others called after him, the toad angry, Ms. Fieldmouse threatening, and Mr. Mole reprimanding. But he didn't listen. He wouldn't take any more of their bullying; just because he was smaller than them they shouldn’t treat him like a possession. This was his life, maybe small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it was _his_ and no one else was to decide what to make of it.

So he ran and ran, following the turns his heart felt were the right ones.

Around the same time, the bug trio and Jean stumbled down a narrow tunnel to the caves. Jean was still dizzy and he shook his head to clear it when hearing shouts of ‘Marco!’ from down below. His eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see Marco run into another tunnel, chased by a whole wedding party.

The bugs pointed and yelled. ‘There’s the toad and the beetle! And the mole too — Marco must have escaped the wedding!’

Enraged by all the pain these creatures had caused Marco, Jean drew his sword and dropped down to the passage below, blocking the way for them so that Marco had a chance to flee. ‘We meet again, toad!’ he called, pointing his sword at the creature.

‘You!’ roared the toad and grabbed for a torch one of the wedding guests had been carrying. ‘You're supposed to be dead!’

‘Well, you better try harder this time, then,’ Jean spit out, wielding his sword in attack. The toad met it with the burning torch, and the others gasped and backed away from the fight not to get involved.

Jean was a skilled swordsman, but he was still recovering from being frozen all winter and the fire posed a bigger problem than expected. Especially when the toad forced the beetle to fight too, or else he would never get his wings back. Jean danced between them, blocking their attacks and attacked in return, until the toad finally managed to smack the back of his head with the wood of the torch.

Jean stumbled to his knees, his vision spinning. Behind him, Ms. Fieldmouse and Mr. Mole hurried past together with the rest of the shocked guests, resuming the chase of the fleeing groom. The toad followed them, but Jean wasn’t done with the fight. He grabbed the toad’s leg, pulling, causing the ugly creature to fall flat on his face.

Cursing loudly the toad kicked his legs and flapped his arms, in his anger rolling them both dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. With wide eyes Jean let go not to be dragged down in the fall, but the toad was quicker; his hands were around Jean’s arm before he fell over the edge.

‘Marco!’ Jean yelled, but the noise from the running spectators was too loud, and Marco already too far away. Jean shook his arm to make the toad lose his grip while struggling to push himself away from the edge.

But the toad had other plans. He reached up for Jean’s head, grabbing his hair in his attempt to climb up, but instead pulling more of him over until they were so unbalanced Jean lost his grip of the rock. With a last shout for Marco, drowned by the toad’s roar of panic, they fell over together, fairy dust trailing after them as they tumbled down into the dark.

Unable to find his balance with the toad’s weight added to his own, Jean slammed hard into the rock as they landed, head spinning and breath leaving him gasping. The toad rolled off, groaning in pain too, but still quick to crawl back to grab for Jean’s ankle to stop him from flying back up.

Jean kicked to get free, but his muscles were weak and his body bruised, and the toad overpowered him without much fight. He was pressed down against the cold stone as rough hands grabbed at his wings and _tore._ The scream of pain echoed between the walls; Jean’s back ached and his wings flapped in panic trying to fight the attack the only way they could. It wouldn’t be easy to tear them off, but the toad was set on succeeding. He pinned Jean’s arm to the ground and tried again.

‘He’s _mine_ ,’ he called, loud enough to be heard over Jean’s suppressed sobs and fruitless struggling. ‘But I might give your wings to the mole as a consolation prize; they’ll be a fine addition to his collection, too good to resist.’

This awful toad was the reason all of this had started. He’d had Marco kidnapped from his home, trying to force a wedding on him. He was the origin of all the sadness and fear that had filled Marco’s small body since then, and directly tried to kill Jean to get him out of the way. Anger boiled in Jean’s chest, tears burned in his eyes; if not for their last meeting, Jean might have found Marco so much sooner, and even been able to get help for his bumblebee in time. There were ways, he knew, with fairy dust and magic. But now all winter had passed, and Jean didn’t even know where to find his dear friend again.

Grief crashed in waves into the anger, mixed with worry for what was happening to Marco now while Jean lay here useless. Or what was coming if he failed to get out of here.

It gave him the strength he needed to free his arm; he shifted and hit his elbow hard into the toad’s face, sending him away. The toad howled and cursed, hands pressed to his hurting nose. Jean forced himself back on his feet, trying his wings to make sure they were still properly attached. It hurt, but it’d heal.

He turned towards the toad again. ‘Marco is not yours,’ he said between clenched teeth, placing emphasis on every word. ‘He’s not the mole’s and he’s not mine. He’s his own, and none of us get to make his choices for him.’

The toad’s eyes burned in anger. He grabbed for the now extinguished torch, swinging it wildly in the air to hit Jean. But Jean stayed out of his reach, leaning against the wall for support as he gazed upwards. It was quite a way to go; he searched for places along it to rest his bruised wings, calculating how far they could get him each time.

His attention snapped back to the toad at a loud shriek; in his mad chase to reach Jean, the toad had jumped too close to the edge of the small, rocky platform they’d landed on. Now he waved his arms frantically to regain his balance, but it did nothing against his weight already tilting over.

Jean's eyes widened in shock, but it all happened too fast for him to react more. One moment the toad was there, and the next all that remained of him was the echoing screams as the abyss swallowed him whole.

\- - -

Marco had never been running like this. His legs ached and lungs protested, but he refused to stop. The voices behind him echoed between the walls, threatening in their massive sound. Shadows danced from the torches, chasing him like a booming army of ghosts he’d have to fight to get out.

But despite his stubbornness and fear, his body was unable to run forever. Glancing back over his shoulder, he stumbled over some of the mole’s gemstones and crashed to the floor. The knees of his trousers tore against the stone, as did the skin when he tried to catch himself with his hands. It stung more than it bled, but the pain fed the fear and fatigue. A broken sob escaped him as he lifted himself up with shaking arms, but he wiped away the tears and dirt from his cheek. He had to push on.

Glancing up then, he saw a glimmer of light breaking in through the top of the mountain of treasures he’d fallen by. Hope slammed in his chest, his heart calling for him to hurry now, for he was almost there.

With renewed strength, Marco scrambled to his feet and began climbing. It was a tricky task; when pressure was put on them, gems and pearls kept slipping away under his feet, and pulling himself farther up with the help of a necklace proved unhelpful when the old, dried cord snapped. But he struggled on, staring up at the small light whenever he needed reassurance.

Below him, Ms. Fieldmouse and Mr. Mole with their trail of followers had arrived. They called up for him, Ms. Fieldmouse with bared fangs, Mr. Mole with a firm grip of his cane. They were coming after him; Marco trembled, eyes searching for something, anything to help him. He was still too far away from the top to get there before anyone caught up with him, unless he figured out a way to slow them down.

A bit further up a key stood buried in the treasures. Marco climbed as fast as he could to reach it, but found even his weight on it wasn’t enough to break it free.

The voices boomed closer. Marco pushed harder at the key, but it barely budged. ‘Stop this immediately!’ Mr. Mole ordered, his inner fury breaking through the cracks. Marco ignored him.

And then finally, _finally_ , the coins gave away and down rolled an avalanche of gold and silver crashing towards the tunnel, years of dirt and dust blowing up around Marco as he fell back with the freed key in his hands. It rumbled and moved beneath him, and for a moment he feared so much would fall away he wouldn't be able to reach the opening.

Below him, the panicked screams echoed as the rodents ran into each other in their panic to get out of the way. But even as it all died down, Marco saw Mr. Mole still standing there. ‘Marco,’ he said, his voice dangerous in the way a brief wind was before a building storm. ‘Come back here now and this will be forgotten.’

Marco didn't reply. The warmth on his back was growing, and staring hard down at the mole, he shifted to the side. The light flooded in in full force, glimmering in the gold and gems, rays of warmth reaching far down into the earth. Mr. Mole yelled and covered his eyes, cursing the source of such wicked power.

But Marco smiled. It only grew as he climbed up the last bit, and by the time his fingers found the edge of earth it was so wide his cheeks ached.

The sun was bright in the blue sky, reflecting on the melting snow, the ground shining. Marco spread his arms as if to embrace it, tears pooling in his eyes both from the strong light and happiness. He didn’t remember the last time he felt this way. So good. So free.

Everything was so quiet, but in a whole different way than the pressing silence below earth. This was open, vibrant, alive.

As his eyes got used to the brightness after all the months in darkness, he gazed around to figure out what to do next. He had to find the way on his own now, he knew, and the only chance of that was if he could get himself high enough to see.

Marco realised he was halfway up a hill, so he steered his steps to the top of it, the crisp surface of the melting snow holding under his light weight. The lone tree standing there reached high towards the sky, branches wide and far and intimidating. When all this had started, Marco would have trembled at the sight, fleeting courage washing away at the prospect of _climbing_ by himself. But now the shake of his hands came from anticipation and the cold. He had not come this far just to give up, to fall into the hands of yet another ill willing creature. Determined fingers hooked around openings in the bark, his expression set and focused. It might be impossible to climb far up enough for him to even reach the first branch, but he was doing it anyway.

And climb he did. Fuelled by his longing for home, to see his mother and all the animals again, he pulled himself higher and higher up the old trunk. He reached the first branches and allowed himself a moment of rest before pushing on. Then he continued.

He was scared, of course. Terrified of falling. But his heart told him this was the way, so he shoved away the fear and listened.

It was lucky the hill was so close to a valley; that way the trees below were far down, and their tops possible to see over. The thought of having to climb all the way to the top of this tree made him dizzy with exhaustion. His fingers were already numb and the rest of him shivered in the torn clothes; he hugged himself tightly as he gazed around.

And there in the distance he saw smoke rising from chimneys, the dark bell tower of the church standing in contrast to the bright sky. He didn’t know how to get there, but at least he knew now what direction to take.

But his happiness was short-lived. Twigs snapped beneath him, soon followed by the cause of it. ‘Marco, come back here!’ Ms. Fieldmouse screamed with her shrill voice. ‘I saved your life, took you into my home — and how do you repay me? With betrayal!’

‘Leave me be!’ Marco cried back, but the mouse didn't stop. She climbed up the trunk, much faster than Marco had done. What was he to do? Climbing further would do nothing, and jumping was out of the question. Gripping a twig, Marco stared down, his stomach turning. He was shaking, his courage slipping away the closer she came with her needle-sharp teeth.

‘You ungrateful little boy!’ she hissed as she came out on the branch. ‘How dare you humiliate me like this?’

Marco’s mouth was dry. He broke the twig, holding it out like a sword between them. But she only laughed. ‘Unless you're better than your precious prince that won't do you any good.’

Marco frowned at her, but before he had time to get out his question, a big shadow fell over them.

The bird swooped down from the sky, and Ms. Fieldmouse shrieked, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to get away from the predator. The whole branch swayed as the bird landed, and Marco fell back, desperately clinging to what was there to grab.

‘I have found it!’ the bird chirped, paying no attention to the fleeing mouse. ‘I found the Vale of the Fairies!’

Marco managed to rise to his feet, finding his balance again. Ms. Fieldmouse was gone, he was free at last, and so happy to see his friend it even won against the pain of Jean’s memory. ‘I just want to go home,’ Marco said. ‘It’s so close now. Look! Over there is my mother’s house.’ He pointed towards the rooftops and church tower of the village, relieved he had a friend to help him get there.

‘But will you not come with me to the Vale first?’ said the bird. ‘I’ve searched for so long to find it.’

Marco sighed, but smiled. ‘If you promise to take me home right after.’

The bird bowed, making a vow to do just that. So Marco climbed up on their back, for now the bird’s strength had grown and recovered, and they rose towards the blue sky.

\- - -

Shaken and quiet, Jean stayed only a moment more before he began his flight up. Once he reached the right level he found his sword but the cave otherwise empty, all guests vanished from sight. But voices were coming from the next tunnel, and remembering that's the direction Marco had taken, he hurried forward.

There was Mr. Beetle, cowered on the ground while the bug trio smacked him with sticks and angry words. ‘This is what you get for taking our friend!’

‘That's enough,’ Jean told them, and they stopped instantly, except for the green-eyed one who landed a final kick, just because.

Mr. Beetle stared around. ‘Where's the toad?’

‘Gone,’ Jean replied, giving the beetle a hard glare. He was part of this too, and Jean was furious at him for it. But maybe the best punishment had already been done on him; something he’d have to live with the rest of his life. Now he would know how it felt to be without wings in a forest full of insects that had, with no quick way to get away from them.

They left the miserable beetle and hurried on. Jean had never been in underground tunnels before, and navigating them was difficult in the dark. With his aching wing, it took longer than he’d wished; for each passing minute, his worry for Marco increased.

At one point, they found themselves in the hall where the mole collected all his wings. They stared up with dread inside, and Jean felt sick at the thought of how close it’d been for his wings to end up there too.

Voices echoed from parallel tunnels, too far away for Jean to make out much of what they were saying. But he heard the words ‘wedding’, ‘the mole’, and ‘Marco’, and that was enough to reassure him he was going in the right direction.

‘Ow!’ someone complained suddenly, right ahead of them. It was the mole, cowering in the dark with hands over his eyes. ‘Away with that terrible light!’

Jean frowned in question, until he realised it must be the glow of his wings the mole was referring to. Face set in determination he ignored the mole’s wish and hurried forward, grabbing his arm. ‘Where is Marco?’ he demanded, forcing the creature to look at him. ‘Where did he go?’

But Mr. Mole’s eyes were hurting from the sunlight Marco had cursed him with, and all he did was moan miserably. Jean learned enough, though; the mention of the sun must mean Marco had gotten out. Now all Jean had to do was find the exit and Marco would be there.

It didn’t take long. Golden coins and shining pearls were spread over the ground, even more rolling away from the mountain as Ms. Fieldmouse hurried down from the hole of sunlight in the ceiling. She stopped dead when she saw Jean, her nose twitching nervously.

‘You’re too late,’ she said then and moved towards the shadows for a hiding place in case Jean tried to attack her. ‘That nasty bird took him!’

Jean refused to let the fear take hold of him, but he still rushed past the terrible mouse with nothing more than a glare. She deserved punishment for what she had done, and would no doubt hide away from him after this, but finding Marco had to come first. He was so close now.

Jean and his bug friends half climbed, half flew out of the hole. Jean shielded his eyes from the bright sun, staring around for any sight of Marco. But there was nothing, not even footprints in the snow since he was too light to make any on the crisp surface.

‘Marco!’ Jean called to the silence, but received no reply. ‘I can’t believe I lost him again,’ he said, despair threatening to fill him. What if the mouse was right? What if a bird had stolen him?

‘The bird is taking him to your home,’ said a soft voice behind them. Jean swirled around, finding a ghostly person his size floating before him. They were a mix of transparency and white ice sparkling like the snow in the sunlight, tiny stars of silver gleaming in the shape of wings behind them. A winter fairy.

This cousin of his had once been born from a flower, golden fairy dust raining from their wings. But when the snow claimed them, they either froze to death or came back to this new shape of life with the help of other winter fairies. Jean had never met any of them before, only heard stories about their cold beauty and magic. Now he stood awestruck, both in wonder and with a trace of chilling fear running over his skin.

‘You almost became one of us, Jean,’ they said. ‘We saw what happened to you. But if we had brought you back to life with our magic, you could never have returned home, or been with your love. I’m glad to see your friends found you and brought your own dust.’

Jean only nodded; it didn’t seem right for him to speak to this being, like it wasn’t his place to do so. The bugs hovered by his shoulders, watching with wide eyes.

‘We could help your friend, though,’ they said. Their face was nearly invisible with the sunlight shining on them, but Jean still saw the trace of a smile. He didn't know what they meant, didn't dare to think about it, but hope still filled his chest. ‘After all, the rules of fairies do not apply to other beings.’

The sentence was followed by a low buzzing noise, and from above came a familiar shape flying towards Jean. His heart jumped as the bumblebee nuzzled into his chest, the sound of the excited buzzing filling Jean with such relief and gratitude, and his eyes with tears. Everything would be all right.

Raising his head again, Jean gave the winter fairy a silent nod, the simple gesture saying more to them than any words. They smiled and nodded back.

Jean wiped his eyes quickly and flew up to bumblebee’s back. ‘Come on, buddy,’ he said and patted his head. ‘Let’s go home.’

\- - -

The Vale still lay in shimmering snow, the tree they landed in as dead as the one they had left. Marco looked around, brows furrowed. There were no fairies in sight, no magic, not anything that separated this place from any of the others they'd passed on their flight.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Marco asked the bird, who nodded eagerly with no doubt in their chest. Marco hummed, listening for the voice of his own heart as his eyes swept over the white ground again. But it was silent.

‘You should sing,’ tweeted the bird, flapping their wings. ‘Sing for everyone to hear!’

Marco sighed. ‘But there's no one here! This is just an ordinary valley!’

The bird’s eyes widened in an offended manner, and Marco quickly apologised for his distrust. But the bird softened, touching Marco’s shoulder gently with their wing. ‘You are tired, I know,’ they said. ‘I’ll take you home, but first; sing! Spring is coming, and it's time for the fairies to wake!’

Marco wasn’t sure how his singing could do anything about that; even if there were fairies here, they must be asleep far beneath the snow. But the bird had done so much for him, so he decided to do this in return.

Clearing his throat, he found the tunes he’d sung with Jean so long ago, closing his eyes as he let himself believe one more time. His voice carried over the icy blanket, and strong flowers grew up through it to better hear. The sun shone bright, and the snow melted away, green grass springing to life in its wake.

But then the magic in Marco’s heart died down. He interrupted himself and turned towards the bird, arms falling to his sides. ‘Even if this the Vale of the Fairies,’ he said, ‘Jean…’ He shook his head, pressing his lips together as he blinked back the tears and composed himself. ‘He isn’t coming back. So _please_ — take me home.’

Right then, icicles broke from the branch behind him as someone landed and swept his sword through them. A familiar buzzing accompanied low giggles that must come from children, and Marco spun around, hands over his mouth and eyes wide in disbelief.

A moment of silence passed as Jean left the higher branch to reach Marco’s side, sheathing the sword on the way. It lasted mere seconds but seemed like ages, and Marco didn't dare to trust what he was seeing. How could this be, after all his months of grieving? How could his wildest, most unrealistic dream come true like this right before his eyes?

‘Jean,’ he exhaled finally, voice trembling but his smile growing behind his fingers, before he reached out to touch Jean’s cheeks. Warm. Breathing. ‘You’re alive— You—’ His voice broke with the tears from his eyes, and he held on tightly as Jean pulled him close, sobbing into his shoulder. ‘Oh Jean, _Jean_ —’

Jean buried his nose in the warmth of Marco's neck, breathing in his existence and hugged him closer. He never wanted to let go again. ‘I’m so sorry for everything, for how long it’s taken—’

Marco pulled back, tear tracks gleaming but smile and eyes shining even brighter. He shook his head, his fingers gently brushing over Jean's cheeks, wiping away the droplets of relief sliding down them. ‘Don't,’ he said, his beautiful smile growing. ‘Everything you've done for me… I can't… I…’ Marco wiped away his own tears, a pretty blush warming his face. ‘I’m _so happy_ you're here…’

Filled with love and gratitude, Jean wrapped his arms around Marco again, lifted him from the branch and spun him through the air, their laughter echoing between the melting snow and opening flowers below.

Jean then lowered Marco back down into the embrace, his ears and cheeks warm, and stomach swirling nervously. But Marco was shining, and Jean’s heart knew. ‘Marco,’ he started, voice a whisper, their noses nudging, his eyes flittering over the familiar face so close to his own. ‘Will you marry me?’

Just a short while ago, Marco had never dared to believe those words would ever have a chance to make him happy. But now his heart was so full it was ready to explode, and he nodded eagerly, so excited he could barely get the words out. ‘I will!’ he sobbed, ‘I will, I will—’ He mumbled the last words against Jean’s smile, all thoughts of anything else vanishing at the sensation of their lips pressed together. It was a soft kiss, caring and loving, everything Marco had dreamt of and more.

Jean’s hands found his waist, lifting him again with more ease than ever before, almost as if all he did was pushing along. Marco’s hands slid off Jean’s shoulders, arms spread to the sides on their own accord as if to hold his own balance in the air. And then Jean’s hands were gone, his smile wide and face lit up by the golden sparkles behind Marco, growing from his back and shaping the familiar form.

Wings.

_He had wings._

Marco didn’t believe his eyes as he turned his head to see them moving rapidly behind him, knowing by themselves how to do it right. Fairy dust rained over his torn clothes, mending, cleaning, and changing them, until no sign was left of the wedding he had escaped. He stared down at Jean still standing on the branch, love and pride shining from his gentle expression. Then, as Jean noticed Marco’s nervousness growing, he floated up to him and linked their fingers together.

‘Just relax,’ he whispered, placing the other hand on Marco's waist for a sense of support. ‘You got this.’

‘How can this be?’ Marco grasped Jean’s hand tight, afraid of falling even though he did not need to be. Not anymore. He held himself in the air; Jean was just there by his side.

‘I told you,’ Jean hummed against Marco’s cheek. ‘Maybe you would get wings one day.’

Before Marco had a chance to reply, loud cheering spread across the Vale. Startled, his hands held tighter of Jean’s fingers and arm, swaying a little as the surprise fluttered through his wings. As he looked down and out as far as he could see, the snow had melted away to give way for hundreds, _thousands_ of beautiful flowers already blooming. And in many of them stood tiny people, golden wings spreading after the long winter sleep, their fairy dust sparkling in the air. They clapped their hands in celebration, all with genuine excitement and joy shining from their smiles. Welcoming the new member of the fairy court and royal family.

This really was the Vale of the Fairies, and the bird tweeted with a pleased expression when Marco sent them a teary, thankful gaze.

Then Marco’s eyes found Jean’s, and biting his lip around the shaky smile, the tears slid down his cheeks. But they were happy ones now, his heart singing. Overwhelmed by all that had happened, he searched his way into Jean’s embrace; arms around Jean’s waist, head resting on Jean’s shoulder. Jean wrapped his own arms around Marco in turn, hugging him close, while the Vale celebrated them both.

The King and Queen greeted them with delight and relief, for they too had heard the rumours of Jean’s fate and spent all the long months of winter fearing they'd lost their son to the ice. They hugged him tight, his mother allowing her tears to fall without bothering to wipe them away. For once appearing collected and proper in court wasn't the first thing on her mind, and not the second either.

Marco didn't know what to say to them; he stared in awe, holding Jean’s hand tight as Jean introduced them.

‘Your voice truly is beautiful,’ said the King with a pleased smile. ‘I understand Jean had to stop by when he first heard it. If your heart is anything like it, you’ll be a good addition to our people — and for him.’

Marco blushed as he stammered his, ‘thank you, Your Grace’, and Jean squeezed his hand.

‘Oh don't worry about that, Father,’ he said, but his eyes were on Marco’s, smiling. ‘It's even more so.’

Later that afternoon, Jean took Marco back home. The window stood ajar, letting in the spring air, and hoping against hope for the lost boy to return home. Marco landed on the table, eyes instantly finding his mother snoozing in her rocking chair by the bookshelf. Seeing her again brought tears to his eyes, and it was with a shaky voice he called out for her. But he couldn’t wait for her to come to him; not now when he was able to move as he wished.

She stirred awake, eyes blinking and squinting at the tiny person hovering in the air before her face. Of course, she had heard nothing from Jean all winter; fearing the worst but hoping against it, she had gazed through the window every day since they disappeared. Now for a moment she thought this must be him.

‘Mother, it’s me!’ Marco assured. ‘I’m home!’

Her eyes widened then, lighting up with joy, and she reached out her hands for Marco to land in. ‘Marco, oh, Marco!’ she cried, holding him to her cheek. He kissed her and hugged her thumb, both of them laughing with tears in their eyes.

Spring spread over the forest and town, with singing birds returning from their time abroad, and sunlight glimmering in the treetops. Jean helped Marco master his wings, staying by his side with reassurance and support. They laughed and danced, swirling with the breezes, and reached for the stars at night.

Lying close together among the petals of a big flower, they talked about all that had happened since Marco first disappeared. Jean frowned in concern, the crease between his brows growing deeper the more he heard of what Marco had been through. He should have found him sooner, he should have protected him… But Marco smiled softly. All of that was over now; there was no need to worry anymore. He caressed Jean’s cheek, amazed that he could. Jean’s body was so warm and full of life Marco didn't understand how he had been frozen in ice all winter. The fairy magic was powerful; it kept nature balanced, had given Marco wings… and returned his love to life.

‘Did you know?’ Marco whispered as his fingers traced Jean’s chin. ‘That I would get wings.’

Jean shook his head with a soft smile. ‘But I hoped you would. There's magic in this bond, in _love_ …’

‘So why didn't you kiss me before?’

A blush spread over Jean’s cheeks and he fumbled with Marco’s fingers. ‘I didn't know if you wanted me to,’ he said, averting his eyes. ‘A—and I... I had never kissed anyone before…’

Marco's smile widened. ‘Well, I never want you to stop now,’ he said softly and pressed his lips to the corner of Jean’s. Jean sighed into it, tilting his head to kiss Marco back. ‘I love you,’ Marco mumbled, tears collecting behind his closed eyelids. ‘S-so much my heart hurts… When I thought you were _dead_ …’ His voice broke with a sob, and Jean held him closer.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered, kissing the tears from Marco's cheeks. ‘It’s all right now. We’re together again, and I’ll be with you as long as you want me to.’

‘Always,’ Marco replied, still teary-eyed but also smiling wide. ‘Always, always.’

The wedding was held by a small, rippling waterfall behind Marco's old home; his mother sat beside it dressed in her finest clothes, accompanied by all the animals on the farm.

It was a grand feast, the field around sparkling with all the fairies watching. The friends they’d made in the forest were all there as well; the fish wives watched from the surface of the brook, the bugs cheered from the grass and air, and the bird tweeted where they sat on a tree branch above.

Marco was happier than he’d ever imagined anyone could be, and meeting Jean’s eyes he knew Jean felt the same way. They were both dressed in white, the rims and details of Jean’s tunic golden like his eyes and the crown on his head. A similar one had been made in silver, and when their vows were exchanged beneath the waterfall rainbow, Marco bowed down to let Jean place it on his dark curls. It matched the glimmering of spiderweb embroidery in Marco's clothes, and the thread of silver entwined with gold in their rings. As Marco straightened up again, Jean took his cheeks in his hands and kissed him; the spectators cheered, and Marco’s heart was full.

The rainbow colours spread along the brook like a carpet, and at its end waited a beautiful white butterfly wagon to take the newlywed couple to their home. Jean reached out his hand, and Marco placed his own on top of it; exchanging a smile, they gracefully glided down the aisle.

But just as they reached the butterflies, Jean whistled and the bumblebee swept them up on his back with a pleased buzzing. The King and Queen gasped, but then laughed good-naturedly. It was their son’s day, after all. His and Marco’s. And after all the bumblebee had done for them, it wasn’t more than right he was part of this as well.

Marco’s arms lay around Jean’s waist as they looked back over their shoulders towards all their friends, smiling wide and waving. Jean’s own eyes soon left the spectacle, instead admiring Marco’s profile in the moonlight. His beautiful smile, the long, dark eyelashes, the way his soft hair shimmered and shifted in the wind.

Marco sensed it, slowly turning back ahead towards Jean. His smile closed to a soft, affectionate expression, eyes blank and full of love. Jean shifted, letting go of one antenna to turn and snake his arm around Marco’s back. Marco leaned closer, nudging his nose against Jean’s; Jean let go of the other one as well, found Marco’s hand and held it to his heart.

There was no need for words in that moment. All their emotions lay there open between them, filling them both. When they kissed, it was both soft and deep, eyes closed and minds holding nothing else.

The bumblebee flew them through the starlit night, over rivers and fields and forests. All abloom. All full of life and happiness. Just like them, now and for all days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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